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I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.

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
Blush
Accusation
Innocence
Patience
Shall
Doubt

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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.
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More fools know Jack Fool than Jack Fool knows.
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
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Promising is the very air o' the time it opens the eyes of expectation.
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If thou art rich, thou art poor for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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Women may fail when there is no strength in man
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Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
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Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
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You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
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thou art the best o' the cut-throats
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Oh, flatter me for love delights in praises.
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Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend professed, To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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