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For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
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
Benedick
Didst
Thou
Parts
Fall
Firsts
First
Love
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Thou art a soul in bliss but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
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In such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th’ ignorant More learned than the ears.
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I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
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Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
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The play's the thing.
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Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touched For death-like dragons here affright thee hard.
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Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
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I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.
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Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
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And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, Contagious blastments are are most imminent.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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One sin, I know, another doth provoke. Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
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Come, swear it, damn thyself, lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee therefore be double-damned, swear,--thou art honest.
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I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.
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Every fair from fair sometime declines
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Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!
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Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King.
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
William Shakespeare
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
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Base is the slave that pays.
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