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You're in love? Out Out of love? I love someone. She doesn't love me.
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
Love
Doesn
Someone
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Base is the slave that pays.
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When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
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Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
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To bed, to bed sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to thy senses, As infants empty of all thought.
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I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
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I am wrapped in dismal thinking.
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
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A scar nobly got is a good livery of honor.
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What e'er thou art, act well thy part.
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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