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There should be hours for necessities, not for delights times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.

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
Nature
Delights
Repose
Comforting
Bed
Delight
Waste
Hours
Necessities
Times
Repair

More quotes by William Shakespeare

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Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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To be direct and honest is not safe.
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Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
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Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant.
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Light and lust are deadly enemies.
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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Liberty plucks justice by the nose The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.
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Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon
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Experience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time.
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A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain,... makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes.
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O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
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He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache
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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
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This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.
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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
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Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
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And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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