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A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
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
Look
Fifty
Falstaff
Looks
Noble
Goodly
Men
Name
Carriage
Think
Names
Carriages
Thinking
Age
Pleasing
Eye
Cheerful
Faith
Lady
Remember
Excitement
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.
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Every why hath a wherefore.
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The devil knew what he did when he made men politic he crossed himself by it.
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A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
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A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
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A good leg will fall a straight back will stoop a black beard will turn white a curl'd pate will grow bald a fair face will wither a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, — for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly.
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Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.
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These flowers are like the pleasures of the world.
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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I have nothing Of woman in me now from head to foot I am marble-constant.
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Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil With them forgive yourself.
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These are the forgeries of jealousy And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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Make not your thoughts your prisons.
William Shakespeare
Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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Tis better using France than trusting France Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Which He hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.
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