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Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
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
Humans
Daggers
Play
Milk
Theme
Kindness
Full
Fear
Nature
Human
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Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.
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And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
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Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
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Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house.
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Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
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The devil is a gentleman.
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For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)
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Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
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Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done? Aaron: That which thou canst not undo. Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother. Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.
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Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation
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This thought is as a death.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.
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Past and to come, seems best things present, worse.
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