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My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.
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
Must
Sharp
Never
Passings
Till
Passing
Gorged
Empty
Falcon
Full
Stoop
Upon
Stoops
Looks
Lure
More quotes by William Shakespeare
'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
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Exit, pursued by a bear.
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There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.
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The heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
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The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
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If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.
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By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence For courage mounteth with occasion.
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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This world to me is like a lasting storm,Whirring me from my friends.
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The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.
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Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
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O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
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Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.
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Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
William Shakespeare
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
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Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. Do not go forth to-day.
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