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

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And do so, love, yet when they have devised What strainèd touches rhetoric can lend, Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathized In true plain words by thy true-telling friend And their gross painting might be better used Where cheeks need blood in thee it is abused.
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Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
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A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously the very ice of chastity is in them.
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O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first it smells of mortality.
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Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods they kill us for their sport.
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.
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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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I wish you well and so I take my leave, I Pray you know me when we meet again.
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Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
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But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
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Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.
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