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O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
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
Haughtiness
Pride
Poverty
Proud
Poor
World
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Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
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I am ill at these numbers.
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But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.
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I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.
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O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!
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O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
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All the world's a stage.
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This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change, For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
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All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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A very little little let us do And all is done.
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But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me? Catherine: I cannot tell. Henry: Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
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Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
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When you fear a foe, fear crushes your strength and this weakness gives strength to your opponents.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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The villany you teach me I shall execute and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.
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'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase you vile standing-tuck!
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Britain is A world by itself, and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.
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