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What our contempts do often hurl from us, We wish it ours again.
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
Contempt
Wish
Often
Hurl
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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If is a custom, More honor'd in the breach than the observance.
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose 'Tis breath not lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
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And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
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Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked?
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How low am I, thou painted maypole?
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Leave us to our free election.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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Patch up thine old body for heaven.
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The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
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How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
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My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.
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I am the Prince of Wales and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
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For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
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Light and lust are deadly enemies.
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Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly.
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what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes
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