Quote

O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

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
Still
Gentleman
Basely
Long
Hour
Shortness
Time
Spend
Dial
Life
Short
Arrival
Hours
Arrivals
Point
Gentlemen
Upon
Ending
Stills
Ride

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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.
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But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offenses as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.
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Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires[nettles], when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
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She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
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I am that merry wanderer of the night.
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The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.
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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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A thousand kisses buys my heart from me And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
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Friendship is constant in all other things, save in the office and affairs of love.
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