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Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to th's first.
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
First
Heirs
Letter
Stood
Affection
Letters
Second
Goes
Gradation
Firsts
Heir
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it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
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My love is deep the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
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I was born free as Caesar so were you
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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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To die: - to sleep: No more and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
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For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.
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Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house as your pearl in your foul oyster.
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She told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father Entirely to her love, but if she lost it Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt After new fancies.
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Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
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To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue.
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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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