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Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary
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
Shall
Beggary
Rich
Rail
Wells
Beggar
Well
Vice
Vices
Sin
Poverty
Virtue
Whiles
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The fear's as bad as falling.
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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God grant us patience!
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Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
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Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
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This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.
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To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess
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If the masses can love without knowing why, they also hate without much foundation.
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Hereditary sloth instructs me.
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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.
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Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes when they are in great danger I recover them.
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Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
William Shakespeare
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
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