Quote

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding Sweet lovers love the spring.

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
Spring
Birds
Fields
Rings
Sweet
Lovers
Lass
Pretty
Field
Ding
Time
Pass
Corn
Love
Sing
Ring
Bird
Hey
Green
Lover

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How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
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If yon bethink yourself of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight.
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Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.
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Time is the king of men.
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Reflection is the business of man a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
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The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd
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There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
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Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions.
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By my troth, I care not a man can die but once we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
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And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.
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Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
William Shakespeare
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There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
William Shakespeare
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Pray, do not mock me. I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen!
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His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.
William Shakespeare
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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