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Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come 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
Strew
Pansies
Violets
Violet
Lap
Spring
Flower
Come
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
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For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it?
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Love is familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love. -
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
William Shakespeare
whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.
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The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his royal friends.
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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The past is prologue.
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Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
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To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?
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Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.
William Shakespeare
Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
William Shakespeare
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
William Shakespeare
Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the west: The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'tis very late The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part, and bid good night.
William Shakespeare
