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 have more care to stay than will to go.
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care.
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.
Tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death.
You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care
Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.
I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care
So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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.
Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are!
Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.
What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.