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Cry havoc! and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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
Men
Dogs
Deeds
Carrion
Smell
Groaning
Cry
Burial
Dog
Havoc
Shall
Deed
War
Foul
Earth
Loose
More quotes by William Shakespeare
This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change, For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
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Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish a very ancient and fishlike smell a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!
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O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
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Truth hath a quiet breast.
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All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, An 'tis no better reckoned but of these Who worship dirty gods.
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
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They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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Put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
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It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him it sets him on and it takes him off.
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The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
William Shakespeare
Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
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She told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father Entirely to her love, but if she lost it Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt After new fancies.
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
William Shakespeare
The best is yet to come.
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Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
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