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Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
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
Upon
Death
Suck
Power
Juliet
Hath
Honey
Breath
Breaths
Beauty
More quotes by William Shakespeare
In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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What e'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.
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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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All offences come from the heart.
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Thanks, sir all the rest is mute.
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Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
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What the great ones do, the less will prattle of
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Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
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I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.
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If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.
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Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. [Act 5, Scene 2]
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Tempt not a desperate man
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Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say, That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
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Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
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And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
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Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.
William Shakespeare