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Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways.
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
Way
Newest
Life
Oldest
Sins
Commit
Sin
Sex
Ways
Ruffian
Kind
Delinquency
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Who is so firm that can't be seduced?
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A book? O, rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers.
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Your praises will become your wages.
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The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
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To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue.
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Who can control his fate?
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
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Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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For you and I are past our dancing days.
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
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Grief hath two tongues and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit.
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