I believe it was one of his fiddlings that sent Nature into convulsions and caused the destruction of Pompeii--so there! Put that on your music rack and fiddle it, my little Emperor." Nero's face grew purple with anger, and if Shakespeare had been anything but a shade he would have fared ill, for the enraged Roman, poising his cue on high as though it were a lance, hurled it at the impertinent dramatist with all his strength, and with such accuracy of aim withal that it pierced the spot beneath which in life the heart of Shakespeare used to beat.
"Good shot," said Doctor Johnson, nonchalantly.

"If you had been a mortal, William, it would have been the end of you." "You can't kill me," said Shakespeare, shrugging his shoulders.

"I know seven dozen actors in the United States who are trying to do it, but they can't.

I wish they'd try to kill a critic once in a while instead of me, though," he added.

"I went over to Boston one night last week, and, unknown to anybody, I waylaid a fellow who was to play Hamlet that night.
I drugged him, and went to the theatre and played the part myself.