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Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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
Time
Lines
Lovely
Life
Eyes
Breathe
Eye
Thou
Lives
Thee
Art
Summer
Giving
Eternal
Temperate
Long
Gives
Sonnet
Men
Shall
Compare
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Though justice be thy plea consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.
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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.
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Let's meet as little as we can
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace.
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Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
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The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
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That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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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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To be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
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After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
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Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd but bred a dog.
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
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Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
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O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts. Possess them not with fear.
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Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile Filths savour but themselves.
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Faith, I have been a truant in the law And never yet could frame my will to it, And therefore frame the law unto my will.
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Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition
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