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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

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
Alcohol
Safety
Ale
Drinking
Brewing
Fame
Pubs
Drink
Drank
Give
Pot
Giving
Cowardice
Would
Beer

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And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
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The spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes.
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
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The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?
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What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak, For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all, all honourable men.
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Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
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These are the forgeries of jealousy And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
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But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
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Men should be what they seem.
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.
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The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order.
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O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose 'Tis breath not lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
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A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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