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Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
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
Worth
Cause
Causes
Ends
Must
Measured
Hath
Sorrow
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Nor shall this peace sleep with her but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new-create another heir As great in admiration as herself.
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
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If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
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So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend, or be rid on't.
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Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou camest to bite the world.
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Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
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You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair.
William Shakespeare
I see men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
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Full many a lady I have eyed with best regard, and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear for several virtues Have I liked several women never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, And put it to the foil.
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Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
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Let the end try the man.
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If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
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Lord Bacon told Sir Edward Coke when he was boasting, The less you speak of your greatness, the more shall I think of it.
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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My love admits no qualifying dross
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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
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A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
William Shakespeare