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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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
Men
Burning
Languish
Grief
Giddy
Turn
Burns
Fire
Backward
Turns
Anguish
Less
Cures
Pain
Desperate
Another
Turning
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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Oh what fools we mortals are.
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The will of man is by his reason sway'd.
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If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
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Determine on some course more than a wild exposure to each chance.
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Affection is a coal that must be cooled else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
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My way of life Is fall'n into the sear and yellow leaf.
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I am a subject, And I challenge law. Attorneys are denied me, And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
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There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.
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I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.
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Let's meet as little as we can
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Men should be what they seem.
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Why, universal plodding poisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigor of the traveller.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
William Shakespeare
