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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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
Wit
Folly
Horse
Fool
Use
Shoots
Like
Stalking
Presentation
Uses
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Barnes are blessings.
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You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious Is to be frightened out of fear.
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And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
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The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err.
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For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
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By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
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Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
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What, shall one of us, That struck for the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers--shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
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And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
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The fear's as bad as falling.
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Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
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Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
William Shakespeare
By my troth, I care not a man can die but once we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
William Shakespeare
