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Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls Conscience is but a work that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law!

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
Keep
Coward
Dream
Souls
Soul
Conscience
Affright
Firsts
Dreams
Babbling
First
Arms
Devised
Work
Law
Swords
Use
Cowards
Strong
Awe

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So. Lie there, my art.
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators, save only he,Did that they did in envy of CaesarHe only, in a general honest thoughtAnd common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elementsSo mixd in him that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, This was a man!
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Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
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Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.
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I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now methinks You teach me how a beggar should be answered.
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If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety.
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This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler and retails his wares.
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Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
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Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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If the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift.
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For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.
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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.
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Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.
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