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'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
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
Pulls
Pride
Country
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I that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error.
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There's place and means for every man alive.
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Keep thy friend Under thy own life's key.
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. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
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Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
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Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lies in sweetest bud. All men make faults.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
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My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
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And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
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All's well that ends well still the fine's the crown. Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
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Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
William Shakespeare
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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God grant us patience!
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How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
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Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.
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