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I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.

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
Peace
Noise
Remnant
Desire
Pray
Henceforth
Part
Bear
Rumours
Body
Field
Devout
May
Praying
Remnants
Soul
Bears
Contemplation
Think
Fields
Memorable
Thinking
Thoughts
Desires
Rumour

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Faith, stay here this night they will surely do us no harm you saw they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
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O villains, vipers, dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
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Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense?
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us.
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When a gentlemen is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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Give me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all unkindness.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.
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Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
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What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
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So loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven, Visit her face' too roughly.
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O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.
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Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.
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By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence For courage mounteth with occasion.
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In jest, there is truth.
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