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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
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
Virtue
Open
Oppression
Law
Correct
Lying
Falling
Fall
Presses
Men
Press
Faults
Laws
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
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I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better.
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An overflow of good converts to bad.
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When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies.
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To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly.
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Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
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I'll be at charges for a looking-glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost.
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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Lords, knights and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay for every word I speak, Ye see I drink the water of my eye.
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He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
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A good heart is the sun and the moon or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.
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Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
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Villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that sing my heart Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas.
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Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
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This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.
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Death-counterfeiting sleep.
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
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