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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
Begins
Brings
Health
Living
Nothing
Long
Things
Mend
Sickness
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Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
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Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
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A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
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Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.
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Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
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Comets importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky And with them scourge the bad revolting stars.
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In maiden meditation, fancy free.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.
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He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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We that are true lovers run into strange capers but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
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All that glisters is not gold Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
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Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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He that keeps not crust nor crum Weary of all, shall want some.
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Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.
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