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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
Lost
Brutish
Art
Julius
Reason
Fled
Men
Countrymen
Beasts
Beast
Thou
Judgment
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You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
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The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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That island of England breeds very valiant creatures their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
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So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown When judges have been babes great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
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Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, In forms imaginary, th' unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
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He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
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Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
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Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
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Falsehood falsehood cures
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