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By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost It yearns me not if me my garments wear Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.

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
Things
Gold
Garments
Honor
Doth
Cost
Outward
Jove
Alive
Dwell
Covetous
Upon
Feed
Yearns
Desire
Desires
Covet
Care
Wear
Covetousness
Soul
Sin
Offending

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Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash ’tis something, nothing ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
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Your worm is your only emperor for diet we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.
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How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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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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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy: sayest thou that house is dark?
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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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A light wife doth make a heavy husband.
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This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
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Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
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Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.
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For this relief, much thanks
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