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If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.
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
Upon
Give
Reason
Giving
Would
Blackberries
Men
Plentiful
Compulsion
Reasons
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O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
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Some are born great, others achieve greatness.
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A man should be what he seems.
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A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
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I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
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The head is not more native to the heart.
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Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.
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For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
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Examine well your blood.
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Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
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Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind.
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The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, In forms imaginary, th' unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
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Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.
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Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty. April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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As for my wife, I would you had her spirit in such another The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
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