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Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.

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
Speak
Graves
Else
Acts
Waxen
Like
Mouth
Worshipped
Mouths
Turkish
Shall
Epitaph
Either
Mute
Full
Freely
History
Grave

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Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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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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Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.
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We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh few are angels.
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part.
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Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.
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You speak like a green girl / unsifted in such perilous circumstances.
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In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
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Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
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Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.
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Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
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Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
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Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.
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