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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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
Upon
Seasons
Fangs
Body
Winter
Penalty
Feel
Blow
Shrinks
Feels
Smile
Blows
Even
Difference
Penalties
Churlish
Wind
Bites
Icy
Cold
Adam
Fang
Differences
Till
Shrink
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.
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They love least that let men know their loves.
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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I do profess to be no less than I seem to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest to converse with him that is wise, and says little to fear judgment to fight when I cannot choose and to eat no fish.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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Come not within the measure of my wrath.
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This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.
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In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
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Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.
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Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.
William Shakespeare
. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
William Shakespeare
They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
William Shakespeare
Past and to come, seems best things present, worse.
William Shakespeare
O, the difference of man and man! To thee a woman's services are due.
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.
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