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
My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.
Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor - Both thanks and use.
No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me as the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on his back.
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!