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Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.
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
Anger
Rocks
Fight
Fighting
Speak
Great
Flint
Scarce
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Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
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When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.
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I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
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I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong.
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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Unsubstantial Death is amorous.
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Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
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As merry as the day is long.
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Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
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So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend, or be rid on't.
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To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess
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The quality of mercy is not strained
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In jest, there is truth.
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The prize of all too precious you.
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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.
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Tis gold Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up This deer to th' stand o' th' stealer: and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief, Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man.
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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
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Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
William Shakespeare
