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If is a custom, More honor'd in the breach than the observance.

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
Observance
Breach
Custom
Customs
Honor

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Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose to the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, and in the calmest and most stillest night, with all appliances and means to boot, deny it to a king?
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A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
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Extremity is the trier of spirits.
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Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
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Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King.
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Heaven is above all yet there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
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Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
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Our praises are our wages.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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Fall Greeks fail fame honour or go or stay My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
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Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
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I am sure care's an enemy to life.
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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Take it in what sense thou wilt.
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My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
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The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.
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Full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
William Shakespeare