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The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
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
Months
Year
Found
Change
Leapt
Years
Asleep
Manners
Weather
Seasons
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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Put money in thy purse.
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The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
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And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot And thereby hangs a tale.
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
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There is a world elsewhere.
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Avaunt, you cullions!
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They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
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O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
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And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
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He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
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A light heart lives long.
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We have seen better days.
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Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because t'was night?
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There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently
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To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
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My love is as a fever, longing still.
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