Quote

I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

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
Lays
Begin
Mischiefs
Politics
Brawl
Secret
Duplicity
Wrong
Grievous
Others
Mischief
Firsts
Unto
First
Charge

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Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
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There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
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Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.
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Speak me fair in death.
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I can see his pride Peep through each part of him.
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
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Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
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That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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Reflection is the business of man a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
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But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
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