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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
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
Men
Wintertime
Ingratitude
Unkind
Winter
Thou
Blow
Wind
Art
Feigning
More quotes by William Shakespeare
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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You are strangely troublesome.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
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Love laughs at locksmiths.
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But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me? Catherine: I cannot tell. Henry: Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
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the time of life is short To spend that shortness basely were too long.
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Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.
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one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
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I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.
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What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye
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And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
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The soul of this man is his clothes.
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O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
William Shakespeare
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
William Shakespeare
Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over low'ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
William Shakespeare
