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Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
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
Holy
Worthless
True
Gifts
Love
Colour
Prefer
Fairs
Silvia
Fair
Commending
Charity
Corrupted
Access
Fairness
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
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Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.
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It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.
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Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
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The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
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Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
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Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
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A man cannot make him laugh but that's no marvel he drinks no wine.... If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
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That is the way to lay the city flat, To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin.
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Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.
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Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
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Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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No legacy is so rich as honesty.
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Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
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