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Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile If not, why then this parting was well made.
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
Forever
Wells
Cassius
Well
Parting
Made
Farewell
Retirement
Smile
Meet
Shall
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The weakest goes to the wall.
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World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee/ Life would not yield to age.
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I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
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How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
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Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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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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Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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If the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift.
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Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
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O you beast! I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
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