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I have been long a sleeper but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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
Politics
Sleepers
Might
Concluded
Great
Doth
Long
Neglect
Absence
Presence
Design
Trust
Sleeper
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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Old Time the clock-setter.
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that's in me should set hell on fire.
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But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
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Let no such man be trusted.
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Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
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The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
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Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.
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But since the affairs of men rests still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
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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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But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.
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Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked?
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
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