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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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
Sorrow
Instruct
Proud
Stoops
Makes
Owner
Sorrows
Owners
Sadness
Misery
Grief
Stoop
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in it.
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We that are true lovers run into strange capers.
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Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
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We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail.
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The thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility yet am I inland bred And know some nurture.
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Love hath made thee a tame snake
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But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose but Fortune, O!
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light
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Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel then what should war be?
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Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
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What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?
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Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
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Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
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When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.
William Shakespeare