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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
Wind
Shake
May
Shakes
Rough
Thee
Buds
Summer
Sonnet
Spring
Bud
Poet
Darling
Poetry
Winds
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I hold my peace, sir? no No, I will speak as liberal as the north Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
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POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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For I am nothing if not critical.
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Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked?
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If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
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This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now seems best.
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I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
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Light seeking light doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
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Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
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Th abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.
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The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
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My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
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