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Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?
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
Love
Sudden
Hold
Possible
Take
More quotes by William Shakespeare
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
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You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!
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Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true varying to other words And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
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Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say, That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
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They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
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While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot And thereby hangs a tale.
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What's the news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest, Then is doomsday near.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.
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To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?
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Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.
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To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder, In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars That make ambition virtue.
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