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The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.
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
Way
Merit
Gift
Gives
Heaven
Force
Makes
Giving
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O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
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To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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Though justice be thy plea consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.
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Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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Thou know'st 'tis common all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
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Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.
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Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
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Be just, and fear not.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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