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The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err.

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
Leads
Errors
Eye
Must
Mind
Directs
Error

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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban
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Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
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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 have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
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Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
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You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes still am I King of those.
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Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.
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To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue.
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The cunning livery of hell.
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Why, thou deboshed fish thou...Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?
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I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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A sympathy in choice.
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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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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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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Faults that are rich are fair.
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Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
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