William Shakespeare Winter Quotations

Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.

Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.

In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Cold indeed, and labor lost: Then farewell heat, and welcome frost!

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.

Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.

Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.

Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.

Now is the winter of our discontent.

Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?

My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.

What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.

Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune 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.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together; Youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. Youth is full sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee.

There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.

A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.

Poor and content, is rich and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As mans ingratitude Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho sing, heigh-ho unto the green holly Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then heigh-ho the holly This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend rememberd not.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

Blow, blow thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together; Youth is full of pleasance, age full of care; Youth like the summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York.

How like a winter hath my absence been. From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!