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Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.
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
Message
Tongue
Messages
News
Tidings
Felt
Tongues
Tell
Gracious
Give
Host
Giving
Ill
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
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a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief
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Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
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Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.
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To wilful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.
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And I will make it felony to drink small beer.
William Shakespeare
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
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A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
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Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.
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Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
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Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
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Hear the meaning within the word.
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This day's black fate on more days doth depend This but begins the woe, others must end.
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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
William Shakespeare