William Shakespeare Wind Quotations

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .

Many can brook (endure) the weather that love not the wind

I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw

Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.

All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.

If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!

Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

I am a feather for each wind that blows

The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main, Seems to cast water on the burning Bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.

Behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.

If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.

Robust grass endures mighty winds; loyal ministers emerge through ordeal.

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.

I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, And the wind blows it from the Capitol.

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

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?

Ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I mean pirates, and thenthere is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks.

What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?...

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

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.

So loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven, Visit her face' too roughly.

But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind

All furnished, all in arms; All plum'd like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed; Glittering in golden coats like images; As full of spirit as the month of May And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.

I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.

Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over low'ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--boils and plagues Plaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile!

Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; which therein works a miracle in Nature, making them lightest that wear most of it: so are those crisped snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.

Sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.