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I shall despair. There is no creature loves me And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?

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
Creatures
Shall
Since
Wherefore
Dies
Memorable
Soul
Creature
Find
Pity
Loves
Despair

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Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
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Why, thou owest god a death.
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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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O, the blood more stirs To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
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The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.
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To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.
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Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
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But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.
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A good old man, sir. He will be talking. As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens!
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I do desire we may be better strangers.
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
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Now my charms are all o'erthrown.
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Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.
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What is thy sentence then but speechless death.
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