The Seasons Quotes in The Winter's Tale
Come, sir, now
I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,
And tell ‘s a tale.
Merry or sad shall’t be?
As merry as you will.
A sad tale’s best for winter: I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not
The mirth o' the feast.
The fairest flowers o’ th’ season
Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors,
Which some call nature’s bastards. Of that kind
Our rustic garden’s barren, and I care not
To get slips of them.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
For I have heard it said
There is an art which in their piedness shares
With great creating nature.
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean. So, over that art
Which you say adds to nature is an art
That nature makes.
. . . This is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
The art itself is nature.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.