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Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

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
Absence
Presence
Sharpen
Brings
Strengthens
Blow
Burns
Distance
Blows
Clear
Doth
Love
Fuel
Till

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I love a ballad but even too well if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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A merry heart goes all the way, - A sad one tires inan hour.
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And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.
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She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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The Hebrew will turn Christian he grows kind.
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
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Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
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Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
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My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind So flew'd, so sanded their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.
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Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk!
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