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Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
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
Still
Fresh
Make
Thou
Think
Changes
Thinking
Moon
Life
Follow
Suspicions
Doubt
Resolved
Stills
Jealousy
Change
Suspicion
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O Ceremony, show me but thy worth? What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men?
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A good wit will make use of anything.
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Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.
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You know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.
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There is a world elsewhere.
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave for there must I use thee.
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
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Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
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Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.
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