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
a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief
Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety.
When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
To persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief.
Would I were dead, if God's good will were so, For what is in this world but grief and woe?
When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed; nor doth the general care Take hold on me; for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.