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But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.
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
Came
Water
Swaggering
Every
Alas
Never
Thrive
Hey
Rivers
Rain
Wind
More quotes by William Shakespeare
When you fear a foe, fear crushes your strength and this weakness gives strength to your opponents.
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But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.
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Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting The perfume and suppliance of a minute No more.
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lies in sweetest bud. All men make faults.
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Forget, forgive conclude, and be agreed.
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Oh, I am fortune's fool!
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
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The patient must minister to himself
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I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
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Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?
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Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.
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The people are the city.
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