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Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.
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
Tell
Much
Cassius
Itching
Palm
Palms
Condemned
Greed
Wall
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Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
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Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool the second mads him and a third drowns him.
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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Your if is the only peacemaker much virtue in if.
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Do not spread the compost on the weeds.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
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Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow
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The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
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I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
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Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
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Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
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Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.
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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!
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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
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