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Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate.
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
Softens
Degenerate
Degenerates
Fearful
Grief
Heard
Makes
Mind
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When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
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It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you will desire and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
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And Caesar shall go forth.
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This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
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T'is true: there's magic in the web of it.
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I do repent but heaven hath pleas'd it so To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So again good night. I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
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Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.
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Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married It is an honor that I dream not of
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O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts. Possess them not with fear.
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But bad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
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Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. (Benedick, from Much Ado About Nothing)
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How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
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Thus may poor fools Belive false teachers.
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Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical--these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
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O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
William Shakespeare
