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Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
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
Coward
Pale
Affection
Choice
Choices
Best
Faints
Like
Woos
Faced
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Talkers are no good doers.
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Time's glory is to command contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests but now I'll set my teeth And send to darkness all that stop me.
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting The perfume and suppliance of a minute No more.
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He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
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When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
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It is the mind that makes the body rich and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.
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Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt that the sun doth move Doubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love.
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Blessings of your heart, you brew good ale.
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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...lest too light winning make the prize light.
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At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
William Shakespeare
When I waked, I cried to dream again
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
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