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He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
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
Figure
Figures
Lamb
Promise
Feats
Courage
Borne
Beyond
Lambs
Age
Lion
Lions
Hath
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Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.
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So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one Two distinct, divisions none.
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Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
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Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
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Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
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There was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
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He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
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My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.
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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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By that sin fell the angels.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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Be collected. No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.
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Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
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Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth.
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Know my name is lost, By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
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