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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!
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
Years
Months
Would
Minutes
Hairs
Time
Hair
Unto
Life
Bring
Grave
Days
Graves
Hours
Pass
White
Created
Ends
Quiet
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one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
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I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
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Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
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The sense of death is most in apprehension.
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Macbeth to Witches: What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on 't?
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If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.
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Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
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Drink down all unkindness.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
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My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
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I love thee none but thee, and thou deservest it
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O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse.
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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
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Fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
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thy wit is a very bitter sweeting it is a most sharp sauce.
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