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I am a feather for each wind that blows

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
Blows
Feathers
Blow
Wind
Feather

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Ready to go but never to return.
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Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
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The breach of custom Is breach of all.
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Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.
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Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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I'll privily away I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.
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Thus we play the fool with the time and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.
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Words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
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Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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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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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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