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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
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
Function
Whose
Single
Surmise
State
Fantastical
Thought
Smothered
States
Shakes
Nothing
Uncertainty
Men
Murder
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
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If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety.
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Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the west: The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'tis very late The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part, and bid good night.
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There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
William Shakespeare
To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.
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The Eyes are the window to your soul
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Reputation is an idle and most false imposition oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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He is winding the watch of his wit by and by it will strike.
William Shakespeare
Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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That which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog.
William Shakespeare