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Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.

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
Thyself
Bent
Younger
Affection
Hold
Cannot
Love

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Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
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Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?
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Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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I was adored once too.
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They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
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Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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Away, you mouldy rogue, away!
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If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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Our jovial star reigned at his birth.
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Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
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And do so, love, yet when they have devised What strainèd touches rhetoric can lend, Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathized In true plain words by thy true-telling friend And their gross painting might be better used Where cheeks need blood in thee it is abused.
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In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
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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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Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
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I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
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If she be not honest, chaste, and true, there's no man happy.
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