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thou art the best o' the cut-throats
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
Throats
Throat
Thou
Cutting
Art
Best
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
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Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid Fly away, fly away, breath I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
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Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.
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Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live But in a dream of friendship, To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnished friends?
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Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
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Thy friendship makes us fresh.
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My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
William Shakespeare
Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.
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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar but not gone.
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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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Pastime passing excellent, if it he husbanded with modesty.
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So. Lie there, my art.
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Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday
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Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
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Come, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
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How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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