Quotes & Sayings About Roses Shakespeare

Fair ladies, masked, are roses in their bud;
Dismasked, the damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. — William Shakespeare

Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses. — William Shakespeare

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine. — William Shakespeare

Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. — William Shakespeare

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud. — William Shakespeare

The composition of Shakespeare is a forest, in which oaks extend in the air, interspersed sometimes with weeds and brambles, and sometimes giving shelting to myrtles and to roses; filling the eye with awful pomp, and gratifying the mind with endless diversity. — Samuel Johnson

Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare. — William Shakespeare

I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew. — William Shakespeare

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks ... — William Shakespeare

But there stands the sword of my ancestor Sir Richard Vernon, slain at Shrewsbury, and sorely slandered by a sad fellow called Will Shakspeare, whose Lancastrian partialities, and a certain knack at embodying them, has turned history upside down, or rather inside out. — Walter Scott

Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.
Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew.
Say she be mute and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
and say she uttereth piercing eloquence. — William Shakespeare

The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. — William Shakespeare

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. — William Shakespeare

Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. — William Shakespeare