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Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
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
Twere
Curiously
Curiosity
Consider
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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JAQUES: Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO: Yes, just. JAQUES: I do not like her name. ORLANDO: There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.
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Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves.
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He that dies pays all debts.
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... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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I am the Prince of Wales and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
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When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
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I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.
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The heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
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To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess
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O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
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O war! thou son of Hell!
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The old folk, time's doting chronicles.
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You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair.
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If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
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Done to death by slanderous tongue
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