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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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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
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Never play with the feelings of others, because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for life time
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A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd
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But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offenses as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
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As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
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...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.
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Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
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Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
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Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.
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Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
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Finish, good lady the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
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I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better.
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