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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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
Give
Giving
Heart
Horatio
Men
Thee
Core
Slave
Wear
Passion
More quotes by William Shakespeare
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
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Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
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Come give us a taste of your quality.
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When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
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The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.
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O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!
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Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
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Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.
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Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
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I do desire we may be better strangers.
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Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
William Shakespeare
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
William Shakespeare
Hang him, swaggering rascal!
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Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
William Shakespeare