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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
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
Things
Close
Taste
Writ
Sweet
Sweets
Lasts
Sweetest
Last
Sunset
Past
Settings
Music
Setting
Long
Sun
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog.
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I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
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One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
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I shall despair. There is no creature loves me And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?
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Memory, the warder of the brain.
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Some falls the means are happier to rise.
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We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.
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Time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop.
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These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.
William Shakespeare
Ay, but to die and go we know not where To lie in cold obstrution and to rot This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.
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He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
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Old fashions please me best I am not so nice To change true rules for odd inventions.
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O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
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And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
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Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
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Presume not that I am the thing I was.
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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And my poor fool is hanged! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never! Pray you, undo this button.
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The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
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