Quote

All things that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral-- Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse And all things change them to the contrary.

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
Office
Wedding
Feast
Turn
Cheer
Hymns
Turns
Buried
Festival
Black
Flowers
Festivals
Change
Instruments
Solemn
Bridal
Things
Contrary
Bells
Burial
Serve
Funeral
Sullen
Flower
Melancholy
Ordained

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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.
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Every great drama has its foreshadow.
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Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
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Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.
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On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily.
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The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
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Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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O heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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What e'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.
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For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
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...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.
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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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More can I bear than you dare execute.
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Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
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I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
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Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
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