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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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
Frenzy
Nurse
Melancholy
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Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
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That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
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Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?
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Get thee to a nunnery.
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Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short he tires betimes that spurs too fast.
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Say as you think and speak it from your souls.
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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel I know not where I am nor what I do.
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How slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, Like to a stepdame, or a dowager, Long withering out a young man's revenue.
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How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
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If you would persuade, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
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The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
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