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The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
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
Mercury
Apollo
Harsh
Songs
Duty
Words
Song
More quotes by 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.
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Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
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Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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thus with a kiss I die
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O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!
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Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.
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I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
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GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
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Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
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Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
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I have supped full with horrors.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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Keep thy friend Under thy own life's key.
William Shakespeare
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
William Shakespeare
Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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