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Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
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
Affection
Choice
Choices
Best
Faints
Like
Woos
Faced
Coward
Pale
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This thought is as a death.
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We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
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Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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Time and the hour run through the roughest day.
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The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main, Seems to cast water on the burning Bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.
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Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.
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Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
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Men have marble, women waxen, minds.
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Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
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Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
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Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.
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Our content Is our best having.
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