Quote

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.

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
Passing
Gorged
Empty
Falcon
Full
Stoop
Upon
Stoops
Looks
Lure
Must
Sharp
Never
Passings
Till

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The Eyes are the window to your soul
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
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What's the news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest, Then is doomsday near.
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A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all, all honourable men.
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All things are ready, if our mind be so.
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Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enrolled In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!
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Faults that are rich are fair.
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This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
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But love is blind and lovers cannot see
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Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
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To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
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To be generous, guiltless, and of a free disposition is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets.
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