Quote

Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.

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
Found
Faced
Blushing
Spirit
Obstacles
Purse
Made
Keeps
Bosom
Men
Shame
Purses
Conscience
Bosoms
Gold
Beggar
Full
Fills
Mutiny
Chance
Restore
Beggars

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The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
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O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
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So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.
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I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.
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Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught?
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O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.
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To be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
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It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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This day's black fate on more days doth depend This but begins the woe, others must end.
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
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In such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th’ ignorant More learned than the ears.
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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me
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It is not night when I do see your face.
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What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate I am a gentleman.
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And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.
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