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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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
Art
Julius
Reason
Fled
Men
Countrymen
Beasts
Beast
Thou
Judgment
Lost
Brutish
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Our enemies are our outward consciences.
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A peace is of the nature of a conquest for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
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The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many thing by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
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It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
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Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil. Are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.
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Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary
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Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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But since the affairs of men rests still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
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To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
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Sweets to the sweet.
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