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So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to 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
Giving
Long
Sonnet
Men
Breathe
Love
Thee
Life
Gives
Eyes
Eye
Lives
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
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Would the cook were o' my mind!
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Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow
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For she had eyes and chose me.
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The seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest.
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I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.
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Examine well your blood.
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Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them. They see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have.
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O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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Let me not live, after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger spirits.
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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Grief makes one hour ten.
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Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights Four nights will quickly dream away the time And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
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Ay, is it not a language I speak?
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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If it be honor in your wars to seem The same you are not,--which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy--how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war: since that to both It stands in like request?
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Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
William Shakespeare
Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
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