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Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to fear the worst oft cures the worse.

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
Blind
Footing
Worst
Stumbling
Seeing
Safer
Fear
Blindness
Reason
Cures
Without
Finds
Leads
Worse

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Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
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O villains, vipers, dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
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Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg.
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How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
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A glooming peace this morning with it brings The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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