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A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as dot an inland brook Into the main of waters.

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
King
Royalty
Kings
Brooks
State
Shines
Water
Waters
Empties
States
Substitute
Inland
Substitutes
Brook
Main
Brightly
Shining
Dots

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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Who is it can read a woman?
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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The prize of all too precious you.
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Juliet is the east and i am the sun.
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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.
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Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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Pastime passing excellent, if it he husbanded with modesty.
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... by indirections find directions out.
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Would I were dead, if God's good will were so, For what is in this world but grief and woe?
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Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.
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He that dies this year is quit for the next.
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Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
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Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
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His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.
William Shakespeare