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Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
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
Woman
Prologue
Love
Ophelia
Hamlet
Jewelry
Brief
Ring
Rings
Posy
Lord
Posies
More quotes by William Shakespeare
And do as adversaries do in law, strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
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Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.
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Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
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A true repentance shuns the evil itself, more than the external suffering or the shame.
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Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.
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Good morrow, fair ones pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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Take you me for a sponge?
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And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
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Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
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Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid Fly away, fly away, breath I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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Profit is a blessing, if it's not stolen.
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The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.
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Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words
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A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
William Shakespeare
Misery makes sport to mock itself.
William Shakespeare
Hang those that talk of fear.
William Shakespeare