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Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
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
Men
Proportion
Time
Broke
Kept
Waste
Sweet
Lives
Sour
Keep
Doth
Music
Wasted
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name such tricks hath strong imagination.
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A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.
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A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Arrested by the holy close of lips, Strength'ned by the interchangement of your rings, And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony.
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I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
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Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
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Your praises will become your wages.
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Glendower: I can call the spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man But will they come, when you do call for them?
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Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom it fills one full of obstacles.
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She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
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Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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An overflow of good converts to bad.
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Full fathom five thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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Every good servant does not all commands.
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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
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But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me? Catherine: I cannot tell. Henry: Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
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There is a world elsewhere.
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