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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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
Pardoning
Tybalt
Murders
Juliet
Murder
Mercy
Kill
Compassion
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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Wise men never sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
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'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
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I am falser than vows made in wine.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
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Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
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And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
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'Tis the soldier's life to have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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He says, he loves my daughter I think so too for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, Who loves another best.
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When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
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See the minutes, how they run, How many make the hour full complete How many hours bring about the day How many days will finish up the year How many years a mortal man may live.
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For trust not him that hath once broken faith
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Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
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If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
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