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This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.
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
Sole
Tyranny
Tongue
Whose
Name
Blisters
Honest
Tongues
Names
Tyrant
Thought
Tyrants
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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
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Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
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His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, gives in your weakness strength unto your foe.
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Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
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And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.
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Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.
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I hold him but a fool that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not.
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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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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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This feather stirs she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
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Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful Mine ears, that heard her flattery nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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