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One sin another doth provoke.

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
Provoke
Doth
Provoking
Sin
Another

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To have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
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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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I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with die same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
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God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
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Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek.
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The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible.
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But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.
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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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I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .
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Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
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For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
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Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because t'was night?
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All hoods make not monks.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
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