Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Through the forest have I gone. But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st. Suppose the singing birds… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th'… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
O Prosperina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's wagon; daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing; To his music, plants… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep’st so sound. Julius Caesar (2.1.248-251)” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught? — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
