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Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his liveless end.
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
Procrastinate
Procrastinating
Doth
Helpless
Hopeless
Chaos
Ends
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.
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O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle.
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A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
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O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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Be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.
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Educated men are so impressive.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
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A good heart 'is worth gold.
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When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.
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Good morrow, fair ones pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
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The leopard does not change his spots.
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Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
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I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst And this is all.
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It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
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