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So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.
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
Death
Men
Shalt
Feeds
Feed
Thou
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.
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But yet, I say, if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth, will give you satisfaction, you may have it.
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How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
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Report me and my cause aright.
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My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
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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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To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
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My master hath been an honorable gentleman tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.
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For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard.
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But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
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What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
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Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
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But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.
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