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This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
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
Coinage
Ecstasy
Creation
Brain
Thinking
Bodiless
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A pair of star-crossed lovers.
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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If yon bethink yourself of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight.
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While we lie tumbling in the hay.
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are!
William Shakespeare
He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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A very honest woman but something given to lie
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Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.
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Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
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For trust not him that hath once broken faith
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Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
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I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.
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Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
William Shakespeare
As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
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From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.
William Shakespeare