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Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
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
Naught
Fame
Knowledge
Much
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By that sin fell the angels.
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Women's weapons, water-drops.
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Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But bad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
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Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow
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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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We must not stint Our necessary actions in the fear To cope malicious censurers, which ever, As rav'nous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further Than vainly longing.
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By-and-by is easily said.
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Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it.
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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Faint heart never won fair maid.
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I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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