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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
Upon
Coward
Frowning
White
Inward
Cowards
Many
Milk
Chins
Heart
Sand
Liver
False
Beard
Livers
Hearts
Stairs
Hercules
Wear
Cowardice
Beards
Whose
Mars
Searched
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Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love.
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.
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This feather stirs she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
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You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?
William Shakespeare
What is thy sentence then but speechless death.
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For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
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The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
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Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
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The spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes.
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I see a man's life is a tedious one.
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There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would.
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Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
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The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
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For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
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Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!
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May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
William Shakespeare
I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
William Shakespeare
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain
William Shakespeare
Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.
William Shakespeare
