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Thou hast her, France let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.

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
Faces
Thou
Ever
Daughter
Without
Childhood
Love
Therefore
Grace
Shall
Hast
Gone
Thine
Face
France

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Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.
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Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.
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Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now.
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Be not afraid of greatness.
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The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
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Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.
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Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast-by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
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What is the city but the people?
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
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Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
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My endeavors Have ever come too short of my desires. Yet filed with my abilities.
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Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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