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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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
Heart
Deep
Sad
Friend
Wound
Gives
Torture
Alone
Wounds
Makes
Sadness
Enough
Slavery
Must
Slave
Giving
Sweet
Groan
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Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
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Beauty lives with kindness.
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I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
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If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
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Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
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To fear the worst oft cures the worst.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
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Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
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Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
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Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
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The wheel is come full circle.
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Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?
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Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, crossed with adversity My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have.
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To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain If lost, why then a grievous labour won However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
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Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest.
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Wishers were ever fools.
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Love, which teacheth me that thou and I am one
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