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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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
Pleasant
Vices
Gods
Instruments
Make
Lear
Plague
Memorable
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
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Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
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If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage.
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
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Men should be what they seem.
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If yon bethink yourself of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight.
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If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.
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Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
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JAQUES: Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO: Yes, just. JAQUES: I do not like her name. ORLANDO: There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.
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If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.
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Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
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Pray, do not mock me. I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
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Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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