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Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
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
Worry
Moody
Recreation
Grim
Doth
Melancholy
Dull
Comfortless
Despair
Ensue
Sweet
Barred
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Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
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O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!
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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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I have drunk and seen the spider.
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But there is no such man for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well
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A dream itself is but a shadow.
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Out of her favour, where I am in love.
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There's a time for all things.
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I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.
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Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
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Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
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Some glory in their birth , some in their skill , Some in their wealth , some in their bodies' force , Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill Some in their hawks and hounds , some in their horse And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure , Wherein it finds a joy above the rest .
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
William Shakespeare
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
William Shakespeare
Be stirring as the time be fire with fire. Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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