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What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?
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
Contempt
Foot
Teeth
Spurn
Feet
Grin
Hand
Valor
Away
Thrust
Hands
Doth
Might
Bravery
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Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
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Set we forward let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together. So through Lud's town march, And in the temple of the great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts. Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
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O sir, you are old nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.
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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured.
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All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.
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This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
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My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
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Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
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In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
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Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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How my achievements mock me!
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