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When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
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
Littles
Understood
Poetical
Little
Truly
Reckoning
Children
Room
Verses
Great
Rooms
Wit
Made
Dead
Strikes
Good
Child
Gods
Would
Understanding
Thee
Men
Cannot
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Come give us a taste of your quality.
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The heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
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I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
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Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
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For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy
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Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
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Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
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To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
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I have sounded the very base-string of humility.
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The sands are number'd that make up my life Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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