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I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.

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
Commit
Cause
Causes
Persons
Person
Dismiss
Country
Favor
Love
Favors
Thank

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The cunning livery of hell.
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We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars as if we were villians by compulsion.
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The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
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If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
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Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
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God defend the right.
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Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
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Greatness knows itself.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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I came, saw, and overcame.
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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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But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
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Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
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Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
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I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-out heresy.
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And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
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The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
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When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men for thus sings he, Cuckoo Cuckoo, cuckoo O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
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Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to th's first.
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