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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.

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
Souls
Teeming
Dear
Womb
Kings
Royal
England
Realm
Land
Nurse
Earth
Realms
Soul
Bless
Plot

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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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Patch up thine old body for heaven.
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Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
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Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
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Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity In least speak most, to my capacity.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Give me a staff of honor for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world.
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She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
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There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.
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I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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I love him for his sake And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him That they take place when virtue's steely bones Looks bleak i' th' cold wind withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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His worst fault is, he's given to prayer he is something peevish that way.
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Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court.
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Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
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Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.
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Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
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This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
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Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.
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