Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks!… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald;… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To… — 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
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white. — 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
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure… — 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
