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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.

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
Melancholy
Thee
Opal
Protect
Changeable
Mind
Tailor
Make
Tailors
Garments
Jewelry
Jewels

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For I am he am born to tame you, Kate and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.
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Thy food is such As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
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To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand,-- That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes only I'll be reveng'd.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst And this is all.
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Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
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Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.
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[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
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The heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
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Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
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I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than an arrow from a bow
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
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