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You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes still am I King of those.
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
Kings
Glory
State
Stills
Still
States
Depose
May
Glories
King
More quotes by William Shakespeare
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
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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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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Juliet is the east and i am the sun.
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A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!
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The why is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob if not, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
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What man dare, I dare. Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The armed rhinoceros, or th' Hyrcan tiger Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble.
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For mine own part, it was Greek to me.
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There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
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In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
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Throw physic to the dogs I'll none of it.
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
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My love's more richer than my tongue.
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Hang him, swaggering rascal!
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Allow not nature more than nature needs.
William Shakespeare
Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
William Shakespeare