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Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done? Aaron: That which thou canst not undo. Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother. Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.

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
Done
Canst
Aaron
Undo
Hast
Undone
Villain
Thou
Mother
Chiron

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Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.
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The coward dies a thousand deaths, the valiant, only once!
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Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?
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Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you
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Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt that the sun doth move Doubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love.
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I am wrapped in dismal thinking.
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Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.
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Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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Death rock me asleep.
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Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
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All things are ready, if our mind be so.
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Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
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So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.
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