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Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better we shall be the more marketable.
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
Mouth
Mouths
Rosalind
News
Celia
Shall
Beau
Full
Marketable
Comes
Crammed
Young
Pigeons
Better
Feed
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I'll privily away I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.
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Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.
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Against love's fire fear`s frost hath dissolution
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
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Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK O, stay but till then! BEATRICE 'Then' is spoken fare you well now... (Much Ado About Nothing)
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Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
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Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.
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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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Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.
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What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
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Let each man do his best.
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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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'Tis the soldier's life to have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.
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As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.
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The loyalty, well held to fools, does make Our faith mere folly.
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I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
William Shakespeare
What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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