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Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

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
Lying
Rain
Doth
Half
Summer
Sunshine
Comes
Sun
Lust
Truth
Spring
Fresh
Done
Lies
Gentle
Always
Effects
Winter
Glutton
Love
Full
Effect
Tempest
Like
Dies
Remain
Forged

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Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true varying to other words And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
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Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
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Boldness be my friend.
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O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school And though she be but little, she is fierce.
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I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better.
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
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Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
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No particular scandal one can touch but it confounds the breather.
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For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
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The time is out of joint.
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Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
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You are my true and honourable wife As dear to me as the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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