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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Ends
Life
Polonius
Ophelia
Rashness
Horatio
Divinity
Rough
Shapes
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
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Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.
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Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.
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Tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.
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One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
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Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile Filths savour but themselves.
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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a robe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such pain the cap of him that makes him fine Yet keeps his book uncrossed.
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I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange with-out heresy.
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Faults that are rich are fair.
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Time's glory is to command contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.
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Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
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Constant you are, But yet a woman and for secrecy, No lady closer for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
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O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
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Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
William Shakespeare
But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them. Viola: Thy reason, man? Feste: Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
William Shakespeare