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Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
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
Men
Hanging
Bags
Puts
Faults
Behinds
Behind
Another
Every
Neighbour
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You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
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When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
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The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
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Say, what abridgement have you for this evening? What masque, what music? How shall we beguile The lazy time if not with some delight?
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I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
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Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
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Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.
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In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
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Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords!
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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The fear's as bad as falling.
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Desperate times breed desperate measures
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
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I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature.
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
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Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
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