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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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
Upon
Royal
War
Dread
Note
Hath
Notes
Army
Face
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Dreams are the children of idled minds.
William Shakespeare
When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men for thus sings he, Cuckoo Cuckoo, cuckoo O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
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I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.
William Shakespeare
If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.
William Shakespeare
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
William Shakespeare
Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no name to be known by, let us call thee devil....O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!
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Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
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Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
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Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
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For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
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Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment, Dare bite the best.
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O, call back yesterday, bid time return
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If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre.
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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.
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Every why has a wherefore.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good so find we profit By losing of our prayers.
William Shakespeare
God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
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Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
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