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Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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
Holes
Golf
Hand
Hands
Made
Cursed
Fatal
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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Come, go with us, speak fair you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the los Of what is past.
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No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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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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Ay, but hearken, sir though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
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This liberty is all that I request.
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That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee in a storm.
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But like of each thing that in season grows.
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
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Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled. Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
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Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
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Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
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Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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