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.
“Thy best of rest is sleep,And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'stThy death, which is no more.”
“Now I wantSpirits to enforce, art to enchant;And my ending is despair,Unless I be relieved by prayer”
“We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.”
“Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father's lifeNow wears his crown.”
“One sees more devils than vast hell can hold”
“Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.”
“I will not trust you, I,Nor longer stay in your curst company.Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,My legs are longer though, to run away.”
“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in showThy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
“Be bloody bold and resolute.”
“Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglectMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.”
“I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?”
“Unnatural deedsDo breed unnatural troubles: infected mindsTo their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets”
“Fit to govern? No, not fit to live.”
“When our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors”
“It is not night when I do see your face,Therefore I think I am not in the night;Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,For you in my respect are all the world:Then how can it be said I am alone,When all the world is here to look on me?”
“Bear hence this body and attend our will. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.”
“Make our faces vizards to our hearts, disguising what they are.”
“I will go tell him of Hermia's flight:Then to the wood will he to-morrow nightPursue her; and for this intelligenceIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense:But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.”
“Todos somos hombres,por naturaleza, frágiles y capacesde nuestra carne; pocos son ángeles.”
“I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early.”
“O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!”
“When your friend lies to you it's not his fault but actually is your's, because you didn't give him proper space to tell the truth.”
“Much ado about nothing.”
“Serve God, love me, and mend.:”
“No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins, but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.”
“When the hurlyburly's done,When the battle's lost and won.”
“Boldness be my friend.”
“O ill-starred wench! Pale as your smock!”
“Away and mark the time with fairest show,False face must hide what false heart dothknow.”
“I wish you all the joy that you can wish.”
“Idol of idiot-worshippers!”
“La unión de dos almas sincerasno admite impedimentos.No es amor el amorque se transforma con el cambio,o se aleja con la distancia.¡Oh, no! Es un faro siempre firme,que desafía a las tempestades sin estremecerse.Es la estrella para el navio a la deriva,de valor incalculable, aunque se mída su altura.No es amor bufón del tiempo, aunque los rosados labios ymejillas caigan bajo el golpe de su guadaña.El amor no se altera con sus breves horas y semanas,sino que se afianza incluso hasta en el borde del abismo.Sí estoy equivocado y se demuestra,yo nunca nada escribí, y nadie jamás amó.”
“Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglectMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:Not all the dukes of waterish BurgundyCan buy this unprized precious maid of me.Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:Thou losest here, a better where to find.”
“life is too short, so live your life to the fullest..every second of your life just treasure it..”
“Cucullus non facit monachum; that’s as much to say, as I wear not motley in my brain.”
“Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?”
“My lord constable, the armor that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?Con. Stars, my lord.Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.Con. And yet my sky shall not want.Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honor some were away.Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.Henry V, 3.7.69-78”
“Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend youFrom seasons such as these? O, I have ta'enToo little care of this! Take physic, pomp;Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,And show the heavens more just.”
“Fare thee well/ A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.”
“Acest volum de-amor, amant răzleț,De s-ar lega, ar fi fără de preț”
“The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law.”
“the worth of that is that which it contains, and that is this, and this with thee remains.”
“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.Thought and afflictions, passion, hell itself, She turns to favor and to prettiness. Song. And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, Flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God ’a’ mercy on his soul.”
“Fortune love you.”
“Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out at every joint and motive of her body.”
“But then I sigh, with a piece of ScriptureTell them that God bids us to do evil for good; And thus I clothe my naked villanyWith odd old ends stolen out of Holy Writ;And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”
“Let every man be master of his time.”
“What infinite heart's-easeMust kings neglect, that private men enjoy!And what have kings, that privates have not too,Save ceremony, save general ceremony?And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st moreOf mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?O ceremony, show me but thy worth!What is thy soul of adoration?Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,Creating awe and fear in other men?Wherein thou art less happy being fear'dThan they in fearing.What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!Think'st thou the fiery fever will go outWith titles blown from adulation?Will it give place to flexure and low bending?Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;I am a king that find thee, and I know'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,The farced title running 'fore the king,The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pompThat beats upon the high shore of this world,No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,Not all these, laid in bed majestical,Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,Who with a body fill'd and vacant mindGets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,But, like a lackey, from the rise to setSweats in the eye of Phoebus and all nightSleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,And follows so the ever-running year,With profitable labour, to his grave:And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.The slave, a member of the country's peace,Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wotsWhat watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,Whose hours the peasant best advantages.”
“There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't”
“Come and take choice of all my library and so beguile thy sorrow.”