Quote

I can counterfeit the deep tragedian Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start, at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.

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
Every
Side
Wagging
Sides
Intending
Start
Straw
Acting
Tremble
Speak
Counterfeit
Back
Straws
Look
Suspicion
Looks
Deep

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Fair Katherine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
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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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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
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Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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He wears the rose Of youth upon him.
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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.
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It is the witness still of excellency to put a strange face on his own perfection.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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Love goes toward love.
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting The perfume and suppliance of a minute No more.
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Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
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Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil With them forgive yourself.
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Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, Not to outsport discretion.
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