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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.

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
Helping
Victory
Need
Fight
Needs
Since
Resolute
Every
Lord
Bold
Way
Dies
Resolution
Fighting
Sole
Help
Honour
Experience
Enterprise

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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
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Hate pollutes the mind.
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I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
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Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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Where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremities was the trier of spirits That common chances common men could bear That when the sea was calm all boats alike showed mastership in floating.
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Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.
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Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid Fly away, fly away, breath I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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Why, this hath not a finger's dignity.
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But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
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My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
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Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
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Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.
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