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Men should be what they seem Or those that be not, would they might seem none!.

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
Might
Would
Men
None
Seem
Seems

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Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
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Let no such man be trusted.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
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The very instant I saw you, did My heart fly to your service there resides To make me slave to it. ...mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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Truth will come to sight murder cannot be hid long.
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She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
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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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for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
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Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion!
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Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low.
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These times of woe afford no time to woo.
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I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours.
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What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.
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Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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