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He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.
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
Took
Parting
Church
Echo
Funny
Kissed
Echoes
Neck
Clamorous
Necks
Smack
Kissing
Bride
Lips
Brides
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Watch tonight, pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.
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What a piece of work is a man
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Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
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Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry And so I hear he doth account me too.
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Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.
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For I am fresh of spirit, and resolved To meet all perils very constantly.
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My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!
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Put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
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Juliet is the east and i am the sun.
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Retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
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Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
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You dull ass will not mend his pace with beating.
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The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
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I’ll look to like, if looking liking move But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.
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