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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .

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
May
Thee
Shake
Summer
Shakes
Temperate
Poet
Hath
Buds
Short
Date
Lease
Poetry
Rough
Sonnet
Wind
Compare
Bud
Shall
Lovely
Darling
Art
Thou
Winds

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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
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You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
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It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
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A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
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Gold were as good as twenty orators.
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do
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Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.
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Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace. Leave gormandizing.
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It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.
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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
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If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.
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As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
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The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.
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And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christen.
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What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
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