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
But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
What man dare, I dare. Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The armed rhinoceros, or th' Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble.
Unthread the bold eye of rebellion,And welcome home again discarded faith.
Why so large a cost, having so short a lease, does thou upon your fading mansion spend?
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; When little fears grow great, great love grows there.
I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows, I am roughand lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live.
Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
I see a man's life is a tedious one.
Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.