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For now they kill me with a living death.

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
Kill
Living
Death

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Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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If they love they know not why, they hate upon no better ground, they hate upon no better a ground
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... And death unloads thee.
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We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.
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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
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Misery makes sport to mock itself.
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Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
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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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But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
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Sin will pluck on sin.
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Thou art sad get thee a wife, get thee a wife!
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It is certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught as men take diseases, one of another.
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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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So may the outward shows be least themselves The world is still deceived with ornament.
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
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ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave for there must I use thee.
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