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My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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
Things
Mend
Sickness
Begins
Brings
Health
Living
Nothing
Long
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The king hath note of all that they intend, by interception which they dream not of.
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This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
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How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God, My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
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On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
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For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
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Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
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Silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
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Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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true apothecary thy drugs art quick
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Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow
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England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
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Good reasons must of force give place to better.
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I have been long a sleeper but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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