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Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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
Ugliest
Hateful
Mask
Death
More quotes by William Shakespeare
By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
William Shakespeare
Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
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For you and I are past our dancing days.
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting The perfume and suppliance of a minute No more.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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All is well ended, if the suit be won.
William Shakespeare
I have drunk and seen the spider.
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Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man.
William Shakespeare
Nothing comes from doing nothing.
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Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short youth is nimble, age is lame Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold Youth is wild, and age is tame.
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Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe
William Shakespeare
From this day forward until the end of the world...we in it shall be remembered...we band of brothers.
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But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates.
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The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure but modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To th' bottom of the worst.
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what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
William Shakespeare
Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
William Shakespeare