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Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime...
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
Art
Glass
Back
Calls
Prime
Glasses
Lovely
Thou
Thee
Mother
April
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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A ministering angel shall my sister be.
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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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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
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The gloomy shade of death.
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Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house as your pearl in your foul oyster.
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
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Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
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Why, universal plodding poisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigor of the traveller.
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When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.
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