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The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
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
Bitter
Welcome
Sweet
Past
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Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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But there is no such man for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words.
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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Barnes are blessings.
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You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
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My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
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Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
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All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.
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Thus we play the fool with the time and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.
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Ships are but boards, sailors but men.
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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
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Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
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This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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