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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.
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
Feels
Hath
Honour
Air
Died
Falstaff
Honor
Trim
Hear
Reckoning
Word
Wednesday
Feel
Doth
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Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
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The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
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There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.
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If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.
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What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say
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Beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
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Truth will come to sight murder cannot be hid long.
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Every fair from fair sometime declines
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Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
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There is a devilish mercy in the judge, if you'll implore it, that will free your life, but fetter you till death.
William Shakespeare
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
William Shakespeare
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
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And send him many years of sunshine days!
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Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.
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Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
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I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
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Ready to go but never to return.
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Now the melancholy of God protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere, for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.
William Shakespeare
If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
William Shakespeare
We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.
William Shakespeare
