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By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word approve me, lord.
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
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Flatter
Lord
Defy
Word
Tongues
Place
Approve
Cannot
Flattery
Heart
Hath
Men
Task
Love
Tongue
Braver
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Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.
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A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
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When a gentlemen is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths.
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
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Those that do teach young babes Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.
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Come, Lady, die to live.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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So fair and foul a day i had not seen.
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You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
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Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
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Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Be merry you have cause, so have we all, of joy for our escape is much beyond our loss . . . . then wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
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But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
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Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
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This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
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Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
William Shakespeare
