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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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
True
Begot
Dream
Juliet
Nothing
Idle
Children
Vain
Fantasy
Dreams
Brain
Talk
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If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
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Who is it can read a woman?
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Truth hath a quiet breast.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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I heard a bird so sing, Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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If people knew how much I hated them, they'd love me for holding it in.
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All furnished, all in arms All plum'd like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed Glittering in golden coats like images As full of spirit as the month of May And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
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There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
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But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
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I am sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
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I am wealthy in my friends.
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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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