William Shakespeare
People note exceptional verbal wit, psychological depth, and emotional range of English playwright and poet William Shakespeare, who included such historical works as
Richard II
, comedies like
Much Ado about Nothing
, and such tragedies as
Hamlet
,
Othello
, and
King Lear
and also composed 154 sonnets before people published posthumously
First Folio
, which collected and contained edition of 36 plays in 1623.
He and Anne Hathaway, his wife, married in 1582.
Forest of Arden, a formerly very extensive wooded area, north of Stratford-upon-Avon of central England provided the setting for
As You Like It
of Shakespeare.
People widely regard William Shakespeare (baptized 26 April 1564) as the greatest writer in the language and the pre-eminent dramatist of the world. They often call him simply the national "bard of Avon." Surviving writings consist of 38 dramas, two long narratives, and several other books. People translate them into every major living language and performed them most often.
Anne bore him Susanna Shakespeare, and twins Hamnet Shakespeare and Judith Shakespeare. Between 1585 and 1592, he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part-owner of the Lord Chamberlain's Men, the company, later known as the King's Men.
Shakespeare wrote throughout the span of his life. He started writing in 1589 and afterward averaged 1.5 dramas a year. From 1590, Shakespeare produced most of his known literature. He early mainly raised genres to the peak of sophistication and artistry before 1601. Next, he wrote mainly Macbeth and similar dramas, considered some of the finest examples in the language, until 1608. In his last phase, he wrote also known romances and collaborated until 1613.
He apparently retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later on day of Saint George, his 52nd birthday. Few records of private life of Shakespeare survive with considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether he wrote all attributed literature.
People inscribed many books of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623, two of his former theatrical colleagues issued all but two now recognized dramas of Shakespeare. Shakespeare, the great master of language and literature authentically wrote not all that people attribute.
People respected Shakespeare in his own day, but his reputation rose to its present heights not until the nineteenth century. The romantics in particular acclaimed genius of Shakespeare, and the Victorians hero-worshiped him with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry." In the 20th century, new movements in scholarship and performance repeatedly adopted and rediscovered his dramas. People consistently perform and reinterpret his highly popular dramas today in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world.
“Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet Grace must still look so.”
“Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,That I did never, no, nor never can,Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,But you must flout my insufficiency?”
“The wildest hath not such a heart as you.Run when you will, the story shall be changed:Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hindMakes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,When cowardice pursues and valour flies.”
“wert thou as farAs that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,I would adventure for such merchandise.”
“What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,So stumblest on my counsel?*Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*”
“Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!Macbeth does murder sleep, - the innocent sleep;Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.”
“A thousand times good night. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.”
“Ay me! sad hours seem long.”
“He that hath the steerage of my course,Direct my sail.”
“I have a soul of leadSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.”
“she shall scant show well that now shows best.”
“One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sunNe'er saw her match since first the world begun.”
“I will make thee think thy swan a crow.”
“One fire burns out another's burning,One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.”
“Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!O any thing, of nothing first create!O heavy lightness, serious vanity,Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!This love feel I, that feel no love in this.”
“Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!*It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*”
“What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?”
“I, measuring his affections by my own,Which then most sought where most might not be found,Being one too many by my weary self,Pursued my humor not pursuing his,And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.”
“No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laughAt gilded butterflies, and hear poor roguesTalk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;And take upon's the mystery of things,As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,That ebb and flow by the moon.”
“When we our betters see bearing our woes,We scarcely think our miseries our foes.”
“Thought is free.”
“Remember me.”
“What's a drunken man like, fool?Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.”
“And Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge,With Ate by his side come hot from hell,Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,That this foul deed shall smell above the earthWith carrion men, groaning for burial.”
“The Devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape.”
“And pity, like a new-born babe,Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsedUpon the sightless couriers of the air,Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,That tears shall drown the wind.”
“Return'd so soon! Rather approached too late: the capron burns, the pig falls from the spit, the clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; my mistress made it one upon my cheek: she is hot because the meat is cold; the meat is cold because you have no stomach, you have no stomach, having broke your fast; but we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray, are pentent for your default today.”
“The pleasing punishment that women bare....”
“She is your treasure, she must have a husband;I must dance bare-foot on her wedding dayAnd for your love to her lead apes in hell.Talk not to me: I will go sit and weepTill I can find occasion of revenge.”
“When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doe blow,And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl,To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.”
“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
“Done to death by slanderous tongue”
“What matters it what went before or after,Now with myself I will begin and end.”
“Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.”
“death,The undiscovere'd country, from whose bournNo traveller returns,”
“O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!”
“Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.”
“Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.”
“I dreamt a dream tonight.Mercutio: And so did I.Romeo: Well, what was yours?Mercutio: That dreamers often lie.Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.”
“As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.”
“There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave”
“But virtue, as it never will be moved,Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,So lust, though to a radiant angel linked,Will sate itself in a celestial bedAnd prey on garbage.”
“There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.”
“Une femme repousse parfois ce qui la charme le plus.»”
“Seek happy nights to happy days.W”
“Had it pleased heavenTo try me with affliction; had they rain'dAll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head.Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,I should have found in some place of my soulA drop of patience: but, alas, to make meA fixed figure for the time of scornTo point his slow unmoving finger at!Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,Where either I must live, or bear no life;The fountain from the which my current runs,Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!Or keep it as a cistern for foul toadsTo knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,--Ay, there, look grim as hell!”
“This to hearWould Desdemona seriously incline:But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,She'ld come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse: which I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard,But not intentively: I did consent,And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat my youth suffer'd. My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,And I loved her that she did pity them.This only is the witchcraft I have used:Here comes the lady; let her witness it.”
“This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:If beauty have a soul, this is not she;If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,If sanctimony be the gods' delight,If there be rule in unity itself,This is not she. O madness of discourse,That cause sets up with and against itself!Bi-fold authority! where reason can revoltWithout perdition, and loss assume all reasonWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.Within my soul there doth conduce a fightOf this strange nature that a thing inseparateDivides more wider than the sky and earth,And yet the spacious breadth of this divisionAdmits no orifex for a point as subtleAs Ariachne's broken woof to enter.Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and loosed;And with another knot, five-finger-tied,The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relicsOf her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.”
“Give me my sin again.”
“Aquí está el oro, peor veneno para el alma; en este mundo asesina mucho más que las tristes mezclas que no puedes vender. Soy yo quien te vende veneno, no tú a mí.”