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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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
Swords
Conscience
Thousand
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He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
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Aand in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?
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Barnes are blessings.
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He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.
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Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
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All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, An 'tis no better reckoned but of these Who worship dirty gods.
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I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.
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Swift as shadow, short as any dream
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Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you
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Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
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Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
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The wheel is come full circle.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
William Shakespeare
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!
William Shakespeare
