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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
May
Shakes
Rough
Thee
Buds
Summer
Sonnet
Spring
Bud
Poet
Darling
Poetry
Winds
Wind
Shake
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Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
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Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up Adam's profession.
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Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun it shines everywhere.
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There is an old poor man,. . . . Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.
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The play's the thing.
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There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
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Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come if it be not to come, it will be now if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
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These blessed candles of the night.
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He is white-livered and red-faced.
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Grief makes one hour ten.
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Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink his intellect is not replenished he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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In maiden meditation, fancy free.
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Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
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The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of tomorrow.
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Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
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Each substance of a grief has twenty shadows.
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Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
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