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O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.
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
King
Kings
Infinite
Dreams
Nutshell
Space
Horatio
Science
Bound
Dream
Count
Bounds
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds Importing health and graveness.
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Love is familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love. -
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The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
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It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him it sets him on and it takes him off.
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Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to fear the worst oft cures the worse.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipped of justice.
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Can it be chat modesty may more betray Our sense than woman's lightness?
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Ignorance is the curse of God knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
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As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
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Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!
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But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.
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Mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust.
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The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
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For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part.
William Shakespeare
Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
William Shakespeare