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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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
Faults
Shame
Shall
Cordelia
Lasts
Lear
Last
Unfold
Time
Hides
Cunning
Cover
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Who can control his fate?
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care.
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Misery makes sport to mock itself.
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I can give the loser leave to chide.
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Cheerily to sea the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France
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Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.
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When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
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I’ll look to like, if looking liking move But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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For to be wise and love exceeds man's might.
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Be merry you have cause, so have we all, of joy for our escape is much beyond our loss . . . . then wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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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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Let's meet as little as we can
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Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!
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He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love
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To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
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If thou art rich, thou art poor for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.
William Shakespeare
The course of true love never did run smooth.
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As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue
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