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To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand,-- That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes only I'll be reveng'd.

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
Comes
Revenge
Profoundest
Give
Dare
Vows
Come
Conscience
Negligence
Giving
Devil
Damnation
World
Grace
Vow
Stand
Pits
Hell
Allegiance
Point
Worlds
Blackest

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Suffer love a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.
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When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
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Determine on some course more than a wild exposure to each chance.
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This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
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We are oft to blame in this, - 'tis too much proved, - that with devotion's visage, and pios action we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
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Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed.
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As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not (5.3.25-28).
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Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
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What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?
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I scorn you, scurvy companion.
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Good old grandsire ... we shall be joyful of thy company.
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But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.
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Ready to go but never to return.
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school And though she be but little, she is fierce.
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it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance
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