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Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
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
Lord
Makes
Reason
Passion
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O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse.
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All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.
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Memory, the warder of the brain.
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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Faith, stay here this night they will surely do us no harm you saw they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.
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If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
William Shakespeare
For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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Rest you fair, good signior Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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The devil knew what he did when he made men politic he crossed himself by it.
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
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Experience teacheth us That resolution 's a sole help at need: And this, my lord, our honour teacheth us, That we be bold in every enterprise: Then since there is no way, but fight or die, Be resolute, my lord, for victory.
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Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.
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Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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Cheerily to sea the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France
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A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
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So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone.
William Shakespeare