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Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
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
Judge
Judging
Forbear
Sinners
Hypocrisy
Sinner
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A poor thing, perhaps, but my own.
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Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
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Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
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Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?
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That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
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Good wombs have borne bad sons. -- (Miranda, I:2)
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.
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That is not the best sermon which makes the hearers go away talking to one another and praising the speaker, but which makes them go away thoughtful and serious, and hastening to be alone.
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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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The pleasing punishment that women bear.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.
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Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
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The Hebrew will turn Christian he grows kind.
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To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.
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O,speak to me no morethese words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet
William Shakespeare
I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .
William Shakespeare
When the age is in, the wit is out
William Shakespeare