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What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
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
Propose
Doth
Ending
Lose
Loses
Passion
Purpose
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes when they are in great danger I recover them.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there.
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Use almost can change the stamp of nature.
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But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
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Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.
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For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds Importing health and graveness.
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A very scurvy fellow.
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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Thanks, sir all the rest is mute.
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