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Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short he tires betimes that spurs too fast.
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
Lasts
Storm
Tires
Last
Violent
Spurs
Long
Fast
Storms
Soon
Fires
Short
Tire
Violence
Showers
Fire
Burn
Small
Sudden
Betimes
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Examine well your blood.
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You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
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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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Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.
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Come, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
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I must be cruel only to be kind Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
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Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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To die: - to sleep: No more and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
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The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!
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The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
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Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
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Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
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I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
William Shakespeare
I am falser than vows made in wine.
William Shakespeare
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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Cry havoc! and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
William Shakespeare
Though Fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
William Shakespeare
