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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
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
Terrible
Wonderful
Thing
Love
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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Thou art a soul in bliss but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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O that a lady, of one man refused, Should of another therefore be abused!
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Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct.
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Well, God give them wisdom that have it and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
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Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them. They see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have.
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Who can control his fate?
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What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
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Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.
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I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come (Phebe)
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I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now.
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And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother
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Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
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People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
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She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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Never he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.
William Shakespeare