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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.

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
Spirit
Motive
Body
Foot
Wanton
Look
Lips
Joint
Looks
Feet
Cheek
Every
Upon
Joints
Love
Eye
Cheeks
Language
Spirits
Speak
Speaks

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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound'.
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He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
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Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them.
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Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain
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His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
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whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.
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O you beast! I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
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Mine honour is my life both grow in one Take honour from me, and my life is done.
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And a man's life's no more than to say One.
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The present eye praises the present object.
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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
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Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
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To beguile the time, look like the time.
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I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
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