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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
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
Ocean
Bosom
Sun
Bosoms
York
Discontent
Deep
Buried
Upon
Glorious
House
Clouds
Made
Winter
Summer
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.
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What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.
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My desolation does begin to make A better life.
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Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
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Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
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An angel or, if not, An earthly paragon.
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So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps.
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If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star!
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There is no creature loves me And if I die, no soul will pity me.
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We are oft to blame in this, - 'tis too much proved, - that with devotion's visage, and pios action we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
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When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor for 'tis the mind that makes the body rich
William Shakespeare
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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My love is thaw'd Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
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I'll teach you differences.
William Shakespeare