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How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
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
False
Beard
Livers
Hearts
Stairs
Hercules
Wear
Cowardice
Beards
Whose
Mars
Searched
Upon
Coward
Frowning
White
Inward
Cowards
Many
Milk
Chins
Heart
Sand
Liver
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Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
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A noble shalt thou have, and present pay And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
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Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God, My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
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O you beast! I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
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I'll look to like if looking, liking move.
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We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
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If you be King, why should not I succeed?
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For I can raise no money by vile means.
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you
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Stars hide your fires let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see
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Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
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Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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A hit, a very palpable hit.
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Profit is a blessing, if it's not stolen.
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Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.
William Shakespeare
Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
William Shakespeare
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen but wondered at, and so my state, Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast.
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
William Shakespeare
