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
Beauty is all very well at first sight; but whoever looks at it when it has been in the house three days?
Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
Remuneration! O! That's the Latin word for three farthings
"Fair, kind, and true" is all my argument, "Fair, kind, and true" varying to other words; And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
One that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.
Preferred three hours quicker over one moment late.
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical--these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
The time of universal peace is near. Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nooked world Shall bear the olive freely.
There are three people in yourself:Who people think you are, Who you think you are, and who you really are.
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.
The rude sea grew civil at her song,And certain stars shot madly from their spheresTo hear the sea-maid's music.