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There should be hours for necessities, not for delights times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.

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
Times
Repair
Nature
Delights
Repose
Comforting
Bed
Delight
Waste
Hours
Necessities

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Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest. Evils that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil.
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For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
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This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.
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Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
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I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
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While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.
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Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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A king of infinite space
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This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.
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Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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In persons grafted in a serious trust, Negligence is a crime.
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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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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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Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity, the less they deserve ... the more merit in your bounty.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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