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Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
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
Sassy
Poison
Thou
Blood
Away
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The love of wicked men converts to fear That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
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Hereditary sloth instructs me.
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She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known
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O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
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Here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
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Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
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Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
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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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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
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'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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My love is as a fever, longing still.
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The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.
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Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
William Shakespeare
