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The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
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
Lear
Vile
Necessities
Precious
Strange
Art
Make
Things
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Death is a fearful thing.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!
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I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
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I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.
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So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
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You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
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Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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