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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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
Laugh
Laughing
Thing
Lusty
Horn
Horns
Scorn
Laughter
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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
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A very ancient and fish-like smell.
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Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?
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By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence For courage mounteth with occasion.
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Wait for the season when to cast good counsels upon subsiding passion.
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A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
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Time is the king of men.
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A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
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There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.
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And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
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Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.
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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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