Quote

Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say, That Time comes stealing on by night and 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
Seasons
Worth
Bankrupt
Heard
Owes
Comes
Thief
Night
Maxims
Men
Thieves
Time
Stealing
Season

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There is none but he Whose being I do fear and under him My genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Antony's was by Caesar.
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Cease to lament for that thou canst not help and study help for that which thou lamentest.
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I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.
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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
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We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
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Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
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But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
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Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
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Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.
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And makes me poor indeed.
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Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.
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What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!
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Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.
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I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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And either victory, or else a grave.
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