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Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.
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
Self
Handmaids
Niceness
Truly
Pretty
Woman
Fear
Women
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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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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O, where is loyalty? If it be banished from the frosty head, Where shall it find a harbor in the earth?
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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The king's name is a tower of strength.
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A noble shalt thou have, and present pay And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
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Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct.
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But I will be, A bridegroom in my death, and run into't As to a lover's bed.
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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Grief makes one hour ten.
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I have touched the highest point of all my greatness.
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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Good wombs have borne bad sons. -- (Miranda, I:2)
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Best men oft are moulded out of faults.
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Love, which teacheth me that thou and I am one
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Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls Conscience is but a work that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law!
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Loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
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