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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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
Faces
Hath
Upon
Wounds
Many
Blow
Made
Deeper
Mines
Mine
Wrinkles
Sorrow
Blows
Face
Struck
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let the galled jade wince our withers are unwrung.
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You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?
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The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
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Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.
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I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
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Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
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Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.
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Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
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I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Be collected. No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.
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But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
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The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
William Shakespeare
But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.
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To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
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Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
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The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
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The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows. They are polluted off'rings, more abhorred! Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
William Shakespeare