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After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.

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
Death
Steel
Fitful
Wells
Poison
Levy
Well
Foreign
Sleeps
Nothing
Touch
Treason
Done
Dying
Memorial
Life
Worst
Malice
Prayer
Fever
Sleep
Domestic

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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
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Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
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I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
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O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.
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Full fathom five thy father lies
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Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
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For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
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And simple truth miscalled simplicity
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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase The dove pursues the griffin the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.
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What is aught but as 'tis valued?
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