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When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
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
Needs
Smell
Rose
Growth
Tree
Cannot
Give
Plucked
Must
Wither
Giving
Vital
More quotes by William Shakespeare
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
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Cursed be he that moves my bones.
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He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
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Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: And some condemned for a fault alone.
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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I'll note you in my book of memory.
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Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
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All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.
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You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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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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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.
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