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Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
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
Meat
Anger
Eating
Shall
Upon
Starve
Starvation
Feeding
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But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
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The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
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O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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In right and service to their noble country.
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Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.
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We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body.
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The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!
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I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
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Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
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Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty Calls virtue hypocrite takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose but Fortune, O!
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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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