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
Love that well which thou must leave ere long.
There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long
Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
My love is as a fever, longing still.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.
Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am