Passage From Shakespeare Novels & Stories

She’s speechless. I merely recap, verbatim, “The descent into darkness by an antihero in Macbeth. The comedic relief of Much Ado About Nothing. The intensity of Othello. The romanticism and tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, of course. And the magical fantasy of The Tempest. Then... There’s the madness of Hamlet.” “I—” Words apparently fail her. So I give a shrug and modestly say, “They’re not first editions or from the original Globe, but they are from the Globe.”

she added before she started walking away from me. "My wife," I called her out, but she didn't look, so I shouted because she was far away from me already as the light started to blind me, "Colleeeeeeeennnn....."

“Forget about your father and change your name. Or else, if you won’t change your name, just swear you love me and I’ll stop being a Capulet—” “She speaks,” I said aloud and stepped onto the stage. Blondie turned to me and gasped in shock. I had gone through her lines with her several times, so yeah, I had this part memorized. “Oh, speak again, bright angel,” I smiled and walked closer. “You are as glorious as an angel tonight. You shine above me, like a winged messenger from heaven who makes mortal men fall on their backs to look up at the sky, watching the angel walking on the clouds and sailing on the air,”

"Everything will be fine from here on out." “Love…too…” Shakespeare had some unique ideas, as shown through Richard II: "I have been studying how I may compare, this prison where I live unto the world." Richard II says this line. Somehow, I had the impression that things would get somewhat better from this point on. I was at last liberated. It started to rain.

Poisoned Apple Ayame A line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream played in my head for the longest time. ‘Weigh oath with oath and you will nothing weigh.’ The thousands of ways that’s applied in my life… This is the one that matters. My promise that he’d never walk alone, against the vow I’d never do anything that could hurt them.

Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet. “O Romeo, Romeo, why are you Romeo? Deny your father and reject your name; Or, if you won’t, just pledge your love to me, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.” As the scene progressed, their voices intertwined in a dance of words, each line dripping with longing and desire. Lily’s heart pounded with the intensity of the moment, her gaze locked with Mark’s as they conveyed the passion of Shakespeare’s timeless lovers.

William Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1 PROLOGUE I open my eyes and am immediately assaulted by a rogue swarm of butterflies in my stomach. A lazy grin stretches across my face and I can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment. Despite the crazy circus in my belly, I have never been happier. The day I have been working towards all month has finally arrived; my wedding day.

Then Adrian began, voice smooth and confident. > “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.” The words rolled off his tongue like they’d been written for him. His eyes stayed locked on mine the entire time, steady and intense, like I was the only person on that stage. When it was my turn, my voice came out softer than I intended. > “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” A few people actually sighed. My cheeks burned as I glanced toward the audience — Asher sat near the middle row, jaw clenched, eyes sharp. Chloe was beside him, her smile too sweet to be real.

The billionaires heirs Third-person POV... "No, thank you," Ashley says. The atmosphere turns awkward and Ashley quickly looks away from him. "Take some rest; you look tired," Ashley says after a few minutes. When Ashley looked at Adrian, he had a smug smile on his face. "Okay," he agreed and he stood up. He walks toward the table, pulls out one of William Shakespeare's books and hands it to Ashley. She takes it and reads the title, A Midsummer Night's Dream and then looks at Adrian, confused. He walks to the other side of the bed, removes his shoes and socks, and then flips on the bed.

Instead, I grab a boring Shakespeare play. Macbeth. I sit in the armchair and force my eyes over the old English. It's a tragedy about ambition, guilt, and blood from what is written on the back. Fitting, I suppose. I force myself to focus on the text, using the dense language as a wall to keep my own messy thoughts at bay. My finger traces the line where Lady Macbeth instructs her husband on how to deceive the King: “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”