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But I will be, A bridegroom in my death, and run into't As to a lover's bed.
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
Bridegroom
Lover
Bed
Lovers
Death
Running
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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Hot blood begets hot thoughts, And hot thoughts beget Hot deeds, And hot deeds is love.
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'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.
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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
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Great floods have flown From simple sources.
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Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
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Patch up thine old body for heaven.
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They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
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As chaste as unsunned snow.
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The let-alone lies not in your good will.
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Man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assur d, glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep.
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Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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Say she rail why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
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Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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For now they kill me with a living death.
William Shakespeare