Quote

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

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
Dream
Dreams
Flattering
Truth
Thoughts
Sits
May
Trust
Thrones
Presage
Hand
Cheerful
Unaccustomed
Sleep
Joyful
Bosom
Lord
Lifts
Bosoms
Spirit
Ground
Throne
Hands
News
Lightly

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you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now seems best.
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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
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Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck.
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Double, double, toil and trouble Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
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To do a great right do a little wrong.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate.
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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?
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The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done joy's soul lies in the doing: That she beloved knows naught, that knows not this-- Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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If money go before, all ways do lie open.
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To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
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Happy thou art not for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get and what thou hast, forgettest.
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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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