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Accommodated that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated or when a man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated,?which is an excellent thing.

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
Thought
May
Thing
Men
Accommodated
Whereby
Excellent

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When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
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A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
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It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him it sets him on and it takes him off.
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It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.
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Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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The king is but a man, as I am the violet smells to him as it doth to me the element shows to him as it doth to me all his senses have but human conditions his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing.
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Cheerily to sea the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
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And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother
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