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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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
Folly
Horse
Fool
Use
Shoots
Like
Stalking
Presentation
Uses
Wit
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Who is so firm that can't be seduced?
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Can we outrun the heavens?
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All things that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral-- Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse And all things change them to the contrary.
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Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!
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That which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal.
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It is the purpose that makes strong the vow But vows to every purpose must not hold.
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For this relief, much thanks
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The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
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Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
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Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast-by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
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And nothing is, but what is not.
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err.
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O, the blood more stirs To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
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He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea singing aloud Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.
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Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven. Send hither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But if indeed you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
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