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
The purest treasure mortal times afford, is spotless reputation; that away, men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
O God! methinks it were a happy life,To be no better than a homely swain;To sit upon a hill, as I do now,To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,Thereby to see the minutes how they run,How many make the hour full complete;How many hours bring about the day;How many days will finish up the year;How many years a mortal man may live.
There is nothing serious in Mortality
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause; there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life
Then to Silvia let us sing that Silvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing upon the dull earth dwelling.
Oh what fools we mortals are.
Retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead!
Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
Within the hollow crownThat rounds the mortal temples of a kingKeeps Death his court.
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 rude sea grew civil at her song,And certain stars shot madly from their spheresTo hear the sea-maid's music.
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief: He robs himself that spends a bootless grief