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I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests but now I'll set my teeth And send to darkness all that stop me.

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
Hours
Luck
Treble
Fighting
Mines
Maliciously
Lives
Mine
Jests
Men
Darkness
Ransom
Lucky
Breathed
Fight
Hearted
Stop
Send
Nice
Teeth

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In persons grafted in a serious trust, Negligence is a crime.
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Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst And this is all.
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?
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And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
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Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button.
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If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends for when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend?
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
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What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.
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Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
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The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows. They are polluted off'rings, more abhorred! Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
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A thousand kisses buys my heart from me And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
William Shakespeare
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No, I will be the pattern of all patience I will say nothing.
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
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Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
William Shakespeare