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For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas
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
Mean
Raise
Heart
Raises
Blood
Heaven
Rather
Vile
War
Coin
Means
Coins
Money
Drop
More quotes by William Shakespeare
After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
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The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
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Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool the second mads him and a third drowns him.
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I love him for his sake And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him That they take place when virtue's steely bones Looks bleak i' th' cold wind withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion!
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Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.
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There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
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It is the disease of not listening...... that I am troubled with.
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.
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Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?
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What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
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Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up Adam's profession.
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Speak, what trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on?
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We cannot fight for love, as men may do we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo
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Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?
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whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.
William Shakespeare
Mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust.
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