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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
Melancholy
Dull
Comfortless
Despair
Ensue
Sweet
Barred
Worry
Moody
Recreation
Grim
Doth

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the fire seven times tried this seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone you are sped.
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Preferred three hours quicker over one moment late.
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Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'
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If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
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My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
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Blood will have blood.
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My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
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They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.
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O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
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O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.
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Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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Better be with the dead, Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
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Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
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