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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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
Half
Conceit
Words
Excess
True
Count
Brags
Cannot
Grown
Beggars
Matter
Substance
Ornament
Love
Worth
Conceited
Wealth
Brag
Rich
Beggar
More quotes by William Shakespeare
By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
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Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
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Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves.
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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
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My love is as a fever, longing still.
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I see a man's life is a tedious one.
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
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My pride fell with my fortunes.
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It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
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A good old man, sir. He will be talking. As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out.
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I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.
William Shakespeare
For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
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You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall with our English dead.
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