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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
Sin
Another
Provoke
Doth
Provoking
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For she had eyes and chose me.
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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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Friendship's full of dregs.
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A dream itself is but a shadow.
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The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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There is none of my uncle's marks upon you he taught me how to know a man in love in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
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Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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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.
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
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One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.
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The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
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Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.
William Shakespeare
What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
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