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You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
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
Cannot
Love
Heyday
Tame
Blood
Call
Age
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Double, double, toil and trouble Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
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And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.
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The heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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The Hebrew will turn Christian he grows kind.
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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
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I am not in the giving vein today.
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Love`s reason`s without reason
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You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.
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Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
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The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
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Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful Mine ears, that heard her flattery nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
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for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
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I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
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Every great drama has its foreshadow.
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Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.
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