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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
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
Self
Interiors
Make
Selves
Good
Necks
Towards
Turn
Eyes
Survey
Turns
Surveys
Eye
Interior
More quotes by William Shakespeare
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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Love's best habit is a soothing tongue
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
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Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes fathers that children with their judgment looked and either may be wrong.
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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee
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A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
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It is certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught as men take diseases, one of another.
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Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books.
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The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
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And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.
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I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
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No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
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I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
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Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
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There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
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Under loves heavy burden do I sink. --Romeo
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