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Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
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
Trouble
Toil
Bubble
Spooky
Adders
Powerful
Charm
Bats
Fork
Broth
Eye
Tongue
Halloween
Wool
Cauldrons
Like
Legs
Worms
Frog
Lizard
Wings
Witch
Sting
Newt
Dog
Bubbles
Worm
Newts
Blind
Toes
Forks
Lizards
Hell
Wing
Frogs
Boil
More quotes by William Shakespeare
When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
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That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
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In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.
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In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
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But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
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Good luck lies in odd numbers.
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
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Words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
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Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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Get thee to a nunnery.
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Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
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Lord Bacon told Sir Edward Coke when he was boasting, The less you speak of your greatness, the more shall I think of it.
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The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
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O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
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