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
Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues.
Spirits are not finely touched 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.
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.
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
Every one can master a grief but he that has it
The blood more stirsTo rouse a lion than to start a hare!
The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
Striving to be better, oft we mar what's well.
That, if then I had waked after a long sleep, will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, the clouds me thought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked I cried to dream again.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began. . . .
Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead!
Not wine... men intoxicate themselves; Not vice... men entice themselves.
Not marble, nor the gilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.