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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!

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
Forget
Would
Like
Depression
Mad
Illness
Grief
Heaven

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I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
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But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
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All's well that ends well still the fine's the crown. Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
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Bid the dishonest man mend himself if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.
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Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.
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When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.
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Thou art most rich, being poor Most choice, forsaken and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My scepter for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave.
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Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.
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Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight which therein works a miracle in Nature, making them lightest that wear most of it: so are those crisped snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
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One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
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A woman's fitness comes by fits.
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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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