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

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And makes me poor indeed.
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In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.
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I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now methinks You teach me how a beggar should be answered.
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If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied.
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I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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Be advised Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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I love thee, and it is my love that speaks
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I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!
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When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.
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We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
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Dreams are the children of idled minds.
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I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
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Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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