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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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
Marriage
Goods
Stuff
Master
House
Field
Thing
Mines
Horse
Barn
Mine
Barns
Masters
Household
Fields
Ass
More quotes by William Shakespeare
You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
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Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
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Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
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They were devils incarnate.
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What thing, in honor, had my father lost, That need to be revived and breathed in me?
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I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
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I am not in the roll of common men.
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Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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Do not spread the compost on the weeds.
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For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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How can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance.
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Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile If not, why then this parting was well made.
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves And spend our flatteries to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again With poisonous spite and envy.
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Th abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.
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Presume not that I am the thing I was.
William Shakespeare