William Shakespeare

Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds<br />Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about<br />There's scarce a bush.

The time of universal peace is near.<br />Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nooked world<br />Shall bear the olive freely.

How every fool can play upon the word!

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

Doubting things go ill often hurts more<br />Than to be sure they do; for certainties<br />Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,<br />The remedy then born.

I do not set my life at a pin's fee,<br />And for my soul, what can it do to that,<br />Being a thing immortal as itself?

A thousand moral paintings I can show<br />That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's<br />More pregnantly than words.

What else may hap, to time I will commit.

I that please some, try all, both joy and terror<br />Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.

I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors<br />since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this<br />present twelve o'clock at midnight.

What e'er you are<br />That in this desert inaccessible,<br />Under the shade of melancholy boughs,<br />Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,<br />And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;<br />Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,<br />But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.

Retire me to my Milan, where<br />Every third thought shall be my grave.

Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to<br />season.<br />Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say,<br />That Time comes stealing on by night and day?

Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how<br />many of my old acquaintance are dead!

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall<br />die.

Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.

What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights,<br />Eightscore-eight hours, and lovers' absent hours<br />More tedious than the dial eightscore times!<br />O weary reckoning!

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

Barnes are blessings.

What thing, in honor, had my father lost,<br />That need to be revived and breathed in me?

Those that do teach young babes<br />Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.

My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

So doth the greater glory dim the less:<br />A substitute shines brightly as a king<br />Until a king be by.

O, the difference of man and man!<br />To thee a woman's services are due.

Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.

I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it<br />Without a prompter.