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The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
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
Must
Obey
Necessity
Deep
Sleep
Talk
Upon
Night
Lateness
Nature
Crept
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Though she be but little, she is fierce!
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would.
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You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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Despair and die. The ghosts
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Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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When I waked, I cried to dream again
William Shakespeare
For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
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Our jovial star reigned at his birth.
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Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
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Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
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The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.
William Shakespeare
A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
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And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
William Shakespeare
