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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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
Middle
Rises
Age
Hot
Given
Flowers
Savoury
Men
Bed
Mints
Think
Summer
Marigolds
Thinking
Sun
Lavender
Flower
Mint
Goes
Weeping
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Glory is like a circle in the water
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O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?
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Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
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I am thy father's spirit Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away.
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself
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The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honored or begets him hate For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
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Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them. They see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have.
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I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
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Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
William Shakespeare
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.
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The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
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My wits begin to turn.
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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
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