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
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
There's small choice in rotten apples.
Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find awaked in such a kind Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them throughly.
Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
Thou art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
A sympathy in choice.
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election, Sh'ath sealed thee for herself.
The choices we make, dictate the lives we lead
Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, and he but naked, though locked up in steel, whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
The purest treasure mortal times afford, is spotless reputation; that away, men are but gilded loam or painted clay.