William Shakespeare (absolved 26 April 1564) was an English artist and dramatist, broadly viewed as the best author in the English language and the world’s pre-prominent playwright. He is regularly called England’s public writer and the “Poet of Avon” (or essentially “The Bard”). His enduring works comprise of 38 plays, 154 pieces, two long story sonnets, and a few different sonnets. His plays have been converted into each significant living language, and are performed more regularly than those of some other dramatist.
Shakespeare was brought up in Stratford-upon-Avon. Researchers accept that he passed on his fifty-second birthday celebration, concurring with St George’s Day.
At 18 years old he wedded Anne Hathaway, who bore him three kids: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Somewhere in the range of 1585 and 1592 he started a fruitful vocation in London as an entertainer, author, and part proprietor of the playing organization the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, later known as the King’s Men. He seems to have resigned to Stratford around 1613, where he passed on three years after the fact. Barely any records of Shakespeare’s private life endure, and there has been impressive hypothesis about such matters as his sexuality, strict convictions, and regardless of whether the works credited to him were composed by others.
Shakespeare created the majority of his known work somewhere in the range of 1590 and 1613. His initial plays were fundamentally comedies and accounts, classifications he raised to the pinnacle of complexity and masterfulness before the finish of the sixteenth century. Next he composed fundamentally misfortunes until around 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, thought about the absolute best models in the English language. In his last stage, he composed tragicomedies, otherwise called sentiments, and teamed up with different writers. Large numbers of his plays were distributed in versions of differing quality and precision during his lifetime, and in 1623, two of his previous dramatic associates distributed the First Folio, a gathered release of his sensational works that incorporated everything except two of the plays now perceived as Shakespeare’s.
Shakespeare was a regarded artist and dramatist in his own day, yet his standing didn’t ascend to its current statures until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, specifically, acclaimed Shakespeare’s virtuoso, and the Victorians legend venerated Shakespeare with a love that George Bernard Shaw called “bardolatry”. In the 20th century, his work was more than once embraced and rediscovered by new developments in grant and execution. His plays remain exceptionally well known today and are reliably performed and reevaluated in different social and political settings all through the world.
As indicated by history specialists, Shakespeare composed 37 plays and 154 pieces all through the range of his life. Shakespeare’s composing normal was 1.5 plays a year since he initially began writing in 1589. There have been plays and pieces ascribed to Shakespeare that were not legitimately composed by the extraordinary expert of language and writing.
βWilliam Shakespeare All Quotes and Sayingsβ
βBe not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.β
βWe know what we are, but know not what we may be.β
βSweet is the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.β
βOur doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.β
βGive every man thy ear, but few thy voice.β
βUneasy lies the head that wears the crown.β
βHow poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?β
βNothing can come of nothing.β
βHow far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.β
βWhatβs done canβt be undone.β
βThough she is but little, she is fierce.β
βNo legacy is as rich as honesty.β
βThis above all; to thane own self are true.β
βI wasted time, and now doth time waste me.β
βThe devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.β
βOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin.β
βWhat is past is prologue.β
βSmall cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.β
βSweet mercy is nobilityβs true badge.β
βWe know what we are, but know not what we may be.β
βSweet is the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.β
βOur doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.β
βGive every man thy ear, but few thy voice.β
βUneasy lies the head that wears the crown.β
βHow poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?β
βNothing can come of nothing.β
βHow far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.β
βWhatβs done canβt be undone.β
βThough she is but little, she is fierce.β
βNo legacy is as rich as honesty.β
βThis above all; to thane own self is true.β
βI wasted time, and now doth time waste me.β
βThe robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.β
βThe devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.β
βOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin.β
βWhat is past is prologue.β
βSmall cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.β
βSweet mercy is nobilityβs true badge.β
βTis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.β
βNeither a borrower nor a lender be.β
βAmbition should be made of sterner stuff.β
βI bear a charmed life.β
βHeat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it does singe yourself.β
βTalking isnβt doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.β
βIn time we hate that which we often fear.β
βModest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.β
βWith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.β
βBoldness is my friend.β
βWords without thoughts never to heaven go.β
βWisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.β
βPleasure and action make the hours seem short.β
βWhen words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.β
βSuch as we are made of, such we be.β
βAnd oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.β
βReputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.β
βTo be, or not to be: that is the question.β
βAll the worldβs a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.β
βAll that glisters is not gold.β
βWords are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find.β
βThe faultβ¦is not in our stars, but in ourselves.β
βAnd this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.β
βExpectation is the root of all heartache.β
βI like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.β
βBetter three hours too soon than a minute too late.β
βLifeβs but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.β
βMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.β
βBrevity is the soul of wit.β
βGive sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o-er wrought heart and bids it break.β
βLook like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.β
βOne may smile, and smile, be a villain.β
βConscience doth make cowards of us all.β
βLet me be that I am and seek not to alter me.β
βEt tu, Brute?β
βO, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyβd monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.β
βIf we are true to ourselves, we can not be false to anyone.β
βBe great in act, as you have been in thought.β
βSuspicion always haunts the guilty mind.β
βAll things are ready, if our mind be so.β
βMany a true word hath been spoken in jest.β
βFor sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.β
βThe Devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape.β
βThought is free.β
βApril hath put a spirit of youth in everything.β
βSummerβs lease hath all too short a date.β
βOur bodies are our gardens to the wills are gardeners.β
βThe tempter or the tempted, who sins most?β
βMen should be what they seem.β
βHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.β
βI would not wish any companion in the world but you.β
βSelf-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.β
βDoubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.β
βI am one who loved not wisely but too well.β
βA young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief.β
βMy bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.β
βThey do not love that do not show their love.β
βI love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.β
βLove is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake.β
βShall I compare thee to a summerβs day? Thou art lovelier and more temperate.β
βLove all, trust a few, do wrong to none.β
βKindness in women, not their beauteous looks, shall win my love.β
βLove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.β
βDo not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.β
βIf music be the food of love, play on.β
βLove is too young to know what conscience is.β
βDid my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I neβer saw true beauty till this night.β
βDonβt waste your love on somebody, who doesnβt value it.β
βAnd yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.β
βLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.β
βGo to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.β
βIn black ink my love may still shine bright.β
βLove alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.β
βSee how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I was a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!β
βThe course of true love never did run smooth.β
βLove sought is good, but given unsought, is better.β
βFor which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?β
βSpeak low, if you speak love.β
βLove comforted like sunshine after rain.β
βGood night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it is morrow.β
βSo long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this and this give life to thee.β
βFor you, in my respect, is the entire world.β
βLove is merely madness.β
βLove is not love which alters when it alteration finds.β
βHow art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath?β
βI wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.β
βDo you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.β
βI can see that heβs not in your good books,β said the messenger. βNo, and if he were I would burn my library.’β
βGod has given you one face, and you make yourself another.β
βMisery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.β
βHe that loves to be flattered is worthy oβ the flatterer.β
βLife is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.β
βMaids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.β
βO thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call the devil.β
116. βLord, what fools these mortals are!β
βI will praise any man that will praise me.β
βMy pride fell with my fortunes.β
βBetter a witty fool than a foolish wit.β
βIs it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?β
βI dote on his very absence.β
βThereβs many a man has more hair than wit.β
βCowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.β
βA fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows him to be a fool.β
βI am not bound to please thee with my answer.β
βIn time we hate that which we often fear.β
βWe are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone.β
βAll other doubts, by time let them be cleared: Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.β
βA man may fish with the worm that hath eaten of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.β
βCome what come May, time and the hour run through the roughest day.β
βHow poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?β
βOf all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.β
βThere are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered.β
βI wasted time, and now doth time waste me.β
βSummer’s lease hath all too short a date.β
βAnd nothing ‘gains Time’s scythe can make defense; Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.β
βMany a man his life hath sold but my outside to behold. Gilded tombs do worms enfold.β
βWhat’s past is prologue.β
βOne fairer than my love! The all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.β
βThe course of true love never did run smooth.β
βLove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.β
βA loverβs eyes will gaze an eagle blind. A loverβs ear will hear the lowest sound.β
βAnd yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.β
βIs love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.β
βWhat’s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.β
βLove is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.β
βMy bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.β
βLove sought is good, but given unsought better.β
βThey do not love that do not show their love.β
βJourneys end in lovers meeting, every wise manβs son doth know.”
βAnd this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.β
βAll the worldβs a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”
βNo legacy is as rich as honesty.β
βWe know what we are, but know not what we may be.β
βThis above all; to thane own self are true.β
βFor there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.β
βHeat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it does singe yourself.β
βThou know the first time that we smell the air we wall and cry. When we are born we cry, that we are come to this great state of fools.β
βLife’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.β
βThings won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.β
βLife is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.β
βLife every man holds dear; but the brave man holds honor far more precious-dear than life.β
βWe are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.β
βI do desire we may be better strangers.β
βYou are not worth another word else Iβd call you knave.β
βIn his brainβwhich is as dry as the remainder biscuit after a voyageβhe hath strange places crammed with observation, the he vents in mangled forms.β
βHe that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.β
βI pray you; do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine. Besides, I like you not.β
βI never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.β
βYou are not worth the dust which the rude wind blows in your face.β
βO let me kiss that hand!β… βLet me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.ββ
βHow well he’s read, to reason against reading!β
βWhat, you egg!β
βI had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swears he loves me.β
βThere’s many a man has more hair than wit.β
βThou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.β
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