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For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.

William Shakespeare

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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Giddy
Conclusion
Thing
Men

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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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To be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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But yet, I say, if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth, will give you satisfaction, you may have it.
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I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
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O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
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Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions
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Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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Thanks, sir all the rest is mute.
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Come, Lady, die to live.
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And to be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
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Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
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