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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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
Make
Ribs
Lean
Wit
Fats
Eating
Bits
Quite
Dainty
Rich
Wits
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How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty Calls virtue hypocrite takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
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I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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I speak of peace, while covert enmity under the smile of safety wounds the world
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
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Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
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Some are born great, others achieve greatness.
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Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
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Time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
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Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
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Never shame to hear what you have nobly done
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Love will not be spurred to what it loathes
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The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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