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William Shakespeare


Othello, The Moor of Venice is a tragedy by William Shakespeare based on the short story «Moor of Venice» by Cinthio, believed to have been written in approximately 1603. The work revolves around four central characters: Othello, his wife Desdemona, his lieutenant Cassio, and his trusted advisor Iago. Attesting to its enduring popularity, the play appeared in 7 editions between 1622 and 1705. Because of its varied themes — racism, love, jealousy and betrayal — it remains relevant to the present day and is often performed in professional and community theatres alike. The play has also been the basis for numerous operatic, film and literary adaptations. (From Wikipedia)
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  • Ibtisam Bhattiділиться враженням4 роки тому

    Othello is a very nice book to read, although it's quite tragic. It's a matter of jealousy, and the fact that you're not supposed to be jealous. Shakespeare is a very old man who lived in the 17th century, and he used Shakespearean English, which is what he created and used in all his plays, so the words are real, and this is not a rip-off of any film, because he wrote the first book.

  • Thomas Everett Vanderboomділиться враженням2 роки тому

  • Willie Kateділиться враженням4 роки тому
    🚀Неможливо відірватися


  • Astap Kuryanцитує7 років тому
    To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor—
  • SOFIA SYAFRIZA HASHIMцитує6 днів тому

    Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her!
    Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw,
    To furnish me with some swift means of death
    For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.
  • SOFIA SYAFRIZA HASHIMцитує7 днів тому
    To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
    Shapes faults that are not—that your wisdom yet,
    From one that so imperfectly conceits,
    Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble
    Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
    It were not for your quiet nor your good,
    Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
    To let you know my thoughts.


    What dost thou mean?


    Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
    Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
    Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
    'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
    But he that filches from me my good name
    Robs me of that which not enriches him
    And makes me poor indeed.


    By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.


    You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;
    Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.




    O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
    It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
    The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss
    Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
    But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
    Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!


    O misery!


    Poor and content is rich and rich enough,
    But riches fineless is as poor as winter
    To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
    Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
    From jealousy!

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