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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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
Dew
Rust
Bright
Keep
Swords
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Come not within the measure of my wrath.
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose 'Tis breath not lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
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If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.
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Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
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Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
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Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
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Oh, that way madness lies let me shun that.
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Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.
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The soul of this man is his clothes.
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It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes for who so firm that cannot be seduced.
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Well, honor is the subject of my story.
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We that are true lovers run into strange capers but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
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He kills her in her own humor.
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O shame, where is thy blush?
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I myself am best When least in company.
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Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
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To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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