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There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.
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
Dwelling
Villain
Never
Arrant
Knavery
Knave
Knaves
Denmark
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
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Seek happy nights to happy days.W
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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
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All the world's a stage ... and you better have a zoning variance or it's coming down.
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I have more care to stay than will to go.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
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Hot blood begets hot thoughts, And hot thoughts beget Hot deeds, And hot deeds is love.
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Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
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God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
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The play's the thing.
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When the sea was calm all ships alike showed mastership in floating.
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Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring.
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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)
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He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea singing aloud Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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