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Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I ha' lost my reputation, I ha' lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!

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
Part
Character
Bestial
Immortal
Reputation
Remains
Lost

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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
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Better be with the dead, Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
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My endeavors Have ever come too short of my desires. Yet filed with my abilities.
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes.
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To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.
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Good words are better than bad strokes.
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Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
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A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.
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From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.
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Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
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You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
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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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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
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Blood will have blood.
William Shakespeare