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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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
Funny
Dry
Graze
Lower
Fondling
Hills
Fountains
Pleasant
Stray
Sexy
Naughty
Lips
Erotic
Passion
Sensual
Lying
Fountain
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
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This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
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So far be distant and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
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For I am fresh of spirit, and resolved To meet all perils very constantly.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
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Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.
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Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
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I'll have no husband, if you be not he.
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