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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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
Stars
Wearied
World
Yoke
Juliet
Shake
Everlasting
Shakes
Flesh
Rest
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
William Shakespeare
I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
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Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
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Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?
William Shakespeare
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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What I have done is yours what I have to do is yours being part in all I have, devoted yours.
William Shakespeare
Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.
William Shakespeare
Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden.
William Shakespeare
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
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If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
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Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth.
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Heaven give you many, many merry days.
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The breach of custom Is breach of all.
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I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
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The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
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Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
William Shakespeare
Bid the dishonest man mend himself if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
William Shakespeare
This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler and retails his wares.
William Shakespeare
thy wit is a very bitter sweeting it is a most sharp sauce.
William Shakespeare
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
William Shakespeare