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This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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
Night
Lear
Madmen
Fools
Fool
Cold
Turn
Turns
More quotes by William Shakespeare
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
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Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
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A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
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All offences come from the heart.
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I that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error.
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Here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
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I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
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The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
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Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead!
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A very honest woman but something given to lie
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Exit, pursued by a bear.
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Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
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In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
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O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
William Shakespeare