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Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
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
Self
Prohibition
Slaughter
Suicide
Weak
Divine
Hand
Hands
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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
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But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
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For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
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There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
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Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
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Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
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Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
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For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
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In the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
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