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What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?
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
Men
Dread
Think
Corruption
Thinking
Thou
Duty
Shall
Fear
Wouldst
Speak
Flattery
Power
Bows
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
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I am a kind of burr I shall stick.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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He is white-livered and red-faced.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil With them forgive yourself.
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What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
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A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us His dew falls everywhere.
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Sometimes, less is more.
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The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
William Shakespeare
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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To persist in doing wrong extenuates not the wrong, but makes it much more heavy.
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Every fair from fair sometime declines
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Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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