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
There's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year.
Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
You shall more command with years than with your weapons.
I am declined Into the vale of years.
He that dies this year is quit for the next.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now.
The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.
And send him many years of sunshine days!
The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us.
Like to the time o' the year between the extremesOf hot and cold, he was not sad nor merry.