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
I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurour and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders At out quaint spirits.
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes
And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.