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Two women placed together makes cold weather.
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
Placed
Weather
Cold
Makes
Two
Together
Women
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The weakest goes to the wall.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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I feel it gone, yet know not when it left.
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Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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The head is not more native to the heart.
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
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My master hath been an honorable gentleman tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
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Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
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The best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed by those that feel their sharpness.
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The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order.
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So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
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For I can raise no money by vile means.
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But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
William Shakespeare
