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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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
Cannot
Grown
Beggars
Matter
Substance
Ornament
Love
Worth
Conceited
Wealth
Brag
Rich
Beggar
Half
Conceit
Words
Excess
True
Count
Brags
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The rain, it raineth every day.
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Where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremities was the trier of spirits That common chances common men could bear That when the sea was calm all boats alike showed mastership in floating.
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Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind.
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
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The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
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I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book.
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They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
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I shall show the cinders of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
William Shakespeare
When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
William Shakespeare
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
William Shakespeare
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
William Shakespeare
Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
William Shakespeare
It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you will desire and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
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The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
William Shakespeare
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
William Shakespeare