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Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
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
Mirth
Mistress
Hath
Laughter
Present
Stills
Still
Come
Unsure
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
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I am declined Into the vale of years.
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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.
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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
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I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel I know not where I am nor what I do.
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The past is prologue.
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
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As good luck would have it.
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Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.
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He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
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You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
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I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, And the wind blows it from the Capitol.
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Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
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But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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