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Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
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
Mocking
Sassy
Naughty
Uncle
Uncles
Hang
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Nothing can come of nothing.
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Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense?
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Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
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Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
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Set we forward let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together. So through Lud's town march, And in the temple of the great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts. Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
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He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
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He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
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O, Thou hast damnable iteration and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? Malvolio: Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Feste: But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.
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A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers.
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Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
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But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
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It is silliness to live when to live is torment.
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Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
William Shakespeare