#shake

A team is a team is a team. Shakespeare said that many times. ↗

— Dan Devine

#ny times #said #shakespeare #team #times

... All who have brought about a state of sex-consciousness are to blame, and it is they who drive me, when I want to stretch my faculties on a book, to seek it in that happy age ... when the writer used both sides of his mind [the male and female sides of his mind] equally. One must turn back to Shakespeare then, for Shakespeare was androgynous; and so were Keats and Sterne and Cowper and Lamb and Coleridge. Shelley perhaps was sexless. Milton and Ben Jonson had a dash too much of the male in them. So had Wordsworth and Tolstoy. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#keats #mind #shakespeare #writing #age

I think Shakespeare had a lot to contribute with his understanding of the human condition. ↗

— Sharon Gless

#contribute #had #his #human #human condition

We are all the same person trying to shake hands with our self. ↗

— Wavy Gravy

#our #person #same #self #shake

First of all, there was a volcano of words, an eruption of words that Shakespeare had never used before that had never been used in the English language before. It's astonishing. It pours out of him. ↗

— Stephen Greenblatt

#been #before #english #english language #eruption

We have cut the text, but what remains are Shakespeare's words. ↗

— Edward Hall

#remains #shakespeare #text #words

The anti-apartheid prisoners on the island, like so many in every age and nation, found that Shakespeare had a peculiar ability to gentle their condition. They used to gather clandestinely to read the plays; on one occasion, the book was passed around for each man to mark his favourite lines. ↗

— Daniel Hannan

#age #around #book #condition #each

But, as always, Mr. Rooney would come over and shake your hand and congratulate you on a good game, no matter what the situation was. ↗

— Franco Harris

#come #congratulate #game #good #hand

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come... ↗

— William Shakespeare

#death-and-dying #hamlet #shakespeare #dreams

He was digging in his garden--digging, too, in his own mind, laboriously turning up the substance of his thought. Death--and he drove in his spade once, and again, and yet again. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools they way to dusty death. A convincing thunder rumbled through the words. He lifted another spadeful of earth. Why had Linda died? Why had she been allowed to become gradually less than human and at last... He shuddered. A good kissing carrion. He planted his foot on his spade and stamped it fiercely into the tough ground. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kills us for their sport. Thunder again; words that proclaimed themselves true--truer somehow than truth itself. And yet that same Gloucester had called them ever-gentle gods. Besides, thy best of rest is sleep, and that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st thy death which is no more. No more than sleep. Sleep. Perchance to dream. His spade struck against a stone; he stooped to pick it up. For in that sleep of death, what dreams...? ↗

— Aldous Huxley

#hamlet #shakespeare #death