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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
Towards
Turn
Eyes
Survey
Turns
Surveys
Eye
Interior
Self
Interiors
Make
Selves
Good
Necks
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Equality of two domestic powers Breeds scrupulous faction.
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How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!
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Hereditary sloth instructs me.
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In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
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Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.
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So far be distant and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
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O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
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England is safe, if true within itself.
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Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
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Memory, the warder of the brain.
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There's husbandry in heaven Their candles are all out.
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By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost It yearns me not if me my garments wear Such outward things dwell not in my desires: But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.
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Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
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Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK O, stay but till then! BEATRICE 'Then' is spoken fare you well now... (Much Ado About Nothing)
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I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.
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But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
William Shakespeare
I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!
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O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.
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