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The present eye praises the present object.
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
Present
Eye
Praises
Object
Praise
Objects
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O war! thou son of Hell!
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It is my soul that calls upon my name How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
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Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
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I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
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For my own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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And to be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
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Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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We are ready to try our fortunes to the last man.
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Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
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O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.
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