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Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
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
Almost
Fear
Cannot
Soul
Heavily
Reason
Dread
Looks
Souls
Men
Truly
Full
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Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
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Cold indeed, and labor lost: Then farewell heat, and welcome frost!
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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While we lie tumbling in the hay.
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Hear the meaning within the word.
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For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
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Coward dogs most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten runs far before them.
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A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously the very ice of chastity is in them.
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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
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Be checked for silence, But never taxed for speech.
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Good name in man and woman is the immediate jewel of their souls.
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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever
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