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William Shakespeare -
Sweet
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101 Sourced Quotes
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If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor!
William Shakespeare
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
William Shakespeare
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The hearts
That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar.
William Shakespeare
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When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence;
So sweet is zealous contemplation.
William Shakespeare
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Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth.
William Shakespeare
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They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die.
William Shakespeare
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So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
William Shakespeare
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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
William Shakespeare
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This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air.
William Shakespeare
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Thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute.
William Shakespeare
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I thank you for your voices, thank you,
Your most sweet voices.
William Shakespeare
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Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
William Shakespeare
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I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.
William Shakespeare
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
William Shakespeare
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There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. O! you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
William Shakespeare
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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
William Shakespeare
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Come, my coach! Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies; good-night, good-night.
William Shakespeare
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Fair ladies, masked, are roses in their bud;
Dismasked, the damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
William Shakespeare
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Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?
William Shakespeare
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How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
William Shakespeare
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'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
William Shakespeare
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
William Shakespeare
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Eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.
William Shakespeare
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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
William Shakespeare
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours,
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
William Shakespeare
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Quote of the day
Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.
Faith Baldwin
William Shakespeare
Creative Commons
Born:
April 26, 1564
Died:
April 23, 1616
(aged 51)
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