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Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain
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
Written
Rooted
Canst
Mind
Ministers
Diseased
Thou
Oblivious
Memory
Psychiatry
Sorrow
Pluck
Memories
Antidote
Trouble
Troubles
Brain
Minister
Raze
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The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.
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Mine honour is my life both grow in one Take honour from me, and my life is done.
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I'll look to like if looking, liking move.
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Good reasons must of force give place to better.
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Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
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Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.
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To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master And cried, 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.
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For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
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The world must be peopled!
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.
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Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not (5.3.25-28).
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
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