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There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.

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
Much
Possessed
Beauty
Benedick
Lasts
Exceeds
Last
December
Inspirational
Exceed
May
Fury
Firsts
Doth
First
Cousin

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For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
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They do not abuse the king that flatter him. For flattery is the bellows blows up sin The thing the which is flattered, but a spark To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing.
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
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I myself am best When least in company.
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It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?
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Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
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Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled. Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
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I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service.
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For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
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'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase you vile standing-tuck!
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There should be hours for necessities, not for delights times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.
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You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
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They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
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If your mind dislike anything obey it
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