William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare – 23 April 1616) was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet, and the "Bard of Avon". His extant works, including collaborations, consist of approximately 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses, some of uncertain authorship. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPlaywright
Date of Birth23 April 1564
she shall scant show well that now shows best.
I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.
Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.
How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?
Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.
It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
These times of woe afford no time to woo.
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban