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O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
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
Excess
Excitement
Measure
Rain
Allay
Joy
Scant
Love
Moderate
Moderates
Ecstasy
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My heart is ever at your service.
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All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.
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A light heart lives long.
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Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
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Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better we shall be the more marketable.
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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
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Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
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Thou know'st 'tis common all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
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As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
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Beauty lives with kindness.
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One sin, I know, another doth provoke. Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
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To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
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Fair ladies, masked, are roses in their bud Dismasked, the damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
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Speak, what trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on?
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It is a sin to be a mocker.
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Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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