William Shakespeare Time Quotations

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.

If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!

We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

Thou know'st the first time that we smell the air we wawl and cry. When we are born we cry, that we are come to this great state of fools.

Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.

In time we hate that which we often fear.

A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion.

What is past is prologue.

What else may hap, to time I will commit.

I that please some, try all, both joy and terror 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 since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.

What e'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 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, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.

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

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

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.

Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bedtime?

... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.

The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time.

Old Time the clock-setter.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

We have seen better days.

There's a time for all things.

Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them.

Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.

Music do I hear?Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,When time is broke and no proportion kept!So is it in the music of men's lives.

I wasted time, and now doth Time waste me: For now hath Time made me his numb'ring clock; My thoughts are minutes

Like to the time o' the year between the extremesOf hot and cold, he was not sad nor merry.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows.

Time's glory is to command contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.

Much rain wears the marble.

Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?

I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

Youth is full of 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, and age is tame.

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

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; for in my youth I never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; and did not, with unbashful forehead, woo the means of weakness and debility: therefore my age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.

Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.

The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.

Beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.

We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun.

Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!

So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate.

See the minutes, how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.

Time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop.

The time is out of joint.

Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.

Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags."

Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.

Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.

Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!

The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.

Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.

Ruin has taught me to ruminate, That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.

O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

Time is the justice that examines all offenders.

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: perseverance, dear my lord, Ke

Time hath a wallet at his back, wherein he puts. Alms for oblivion, a great-sized monster of ingratitudes.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, As patches set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If you have ever looked on better days, If ever been where bells knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. . . .

ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.

Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

Make use of time, let not advantage slip.

Let every man be master of his time.

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides, Who covert faults at last with shame derides

The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous goans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours.

And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

The weight of this sad time we must obey;Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages

All these woes shall serveFor sweet discourses in our time to come.