Quote

If the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift.

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
Boys
Commanded
Woman
Onions
Wells
Shower
Well
Showers
Shift
Rain
Gift
Tears
Onion

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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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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
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I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
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All the world's a stage ... and you better have a zoning variance or it's coming down.
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Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
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Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
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Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
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Full fathom five thy father lies
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Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.
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Lovers ever run before the clock
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The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.
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thy wit is a very bitter sweeting it is a most sharp sauce.
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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