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Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own 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
Made
Sinner
Like
Memorable
Credit
Memory
Telling
Memories
Lying
Truth
More quotes by William Shakespeare
He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
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Heaven - the treasury of everlasting life.
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Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
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Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.
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No particular scandal one can touch but it confounds the breather.
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I would not lose so great an honor As one man more methinks would share with me For the best hope I have.
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A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain,... makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes.
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O,speak to me no morethese words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
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Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's.
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Be to yourself as you would to your friend.
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A little water clears us of this deed.
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I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.
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I have lov'd her ever since I saw her and still I see her beautiful
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But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
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Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God, My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
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To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
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There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
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