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Abandon all remorse On horror's head horrors accumulate.
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
Head
Accumulate
Horrors
Remorse
Abandon
Horror
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And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.
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Happy thou art not for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get and what thou hast, forgettest.
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There is a history in all men's lives.
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I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
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I'll forbear And am fallen out with my more headier will To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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My cousin's a fool, and thou art another.
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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Oh, flatter me for love delights in praises.
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And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
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When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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Thou art most rich, being poor Most choice, forsaken and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
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