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Remembrance of things past.
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
Remembrance
Nostalgia
Past
Things
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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The pleasing punishment that women bear.
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Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enrolled In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
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Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.
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My stars shine darkly over me
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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Oh, I am fortune's fool!
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Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
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LEONATO Neighbours, you are tedious. DOGBERRY It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
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Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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Sorrow, like a heavy ringing bell, once set on ringing, with its own weight goes then little strength rings out the doleful knell.
William Shakespeare
The time is out of joint.
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