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 voluntary path to cheerfulness, if our spontaneous be lost, is to sit up cheerfully, and act and speak as if cheerfulness wee already there. To feel brave, act as if we were brave, use all our will to that end, and courage will very likely replace fear. If we act as if from some better feeling, the bad feeling soon folds its tent like an Arab and silently steals away
A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep / And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. / Welcome.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;Suffer them now, and they'll outgrow the garden,And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?
Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.
For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds Importing health and graveness.
Weed your better judgments of all opinion that grows rank in them.
The summer's flow'r is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die' But if that flow'r with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.