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Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.
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
Souls
Flower
Hand
Hands
Soul
Couch
Couches
Flowers
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
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There's villainous news abroad.
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Discharge my followers let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.
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Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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Omittance is no quittance.
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Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
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I must be cruel only to be kind Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
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I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
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They are fairies he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch no man their works must eye.
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What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.
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So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.
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With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.
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Time is the king of men.
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She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them
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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes
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So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
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Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
William Shakespeare