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To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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
Love
Rise
Delight
Business
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.
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A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time
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The devil knew what he did when he made men politic he crossed himself by it.
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Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime...
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Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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I do desire we may be better strangers.
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Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
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Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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Heaven is above all yet there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
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I'll privily away I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.
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Love`s reason`s without reason
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Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
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Her father lov'd me oft invited me Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd.
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Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions
William Shakespeare
To you your father should be as a god One that composed your beauties, yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure or disfigure it.
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For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg.
William Shakespeare