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So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
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
Comfort
Wilt
Stills
Thine
Still
Sad
Self
Restore
Sadness
Thou
Mortgaged
Mines
Confessed
Mine
Forfeit
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Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep.
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Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.
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Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books.
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Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
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I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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If you would persuade, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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I dote on his very absence.
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If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
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He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love
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Hot blood begets hot thoughts, And hot thoughts beget Hot deeds, And hot deeds is love.
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Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
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Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
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To whom God will, there be the victory.
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It is my soul that calls upon my name How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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