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Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.
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
Elements
Comfort
Spirit
Fare
Wells
Farewell
Well
Goodbye
Kind
Spirits
Make
Sister
Thee
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Memory, the warder of the brain.
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Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
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Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful Mine ears, that heard her flattery nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
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Boldness be my friend.
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Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.
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If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.
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I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
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Though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft let by the nose with gold.
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Hate pollutes the mind.
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To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
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And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
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A noble shalt thou have, and present pay And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
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Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
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Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.
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He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
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Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
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Oh, flatter me for love delights in praises.
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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