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Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to th's first.
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
First
Heirs
Letter
Stood
Affection
Letters
Second
Goes
Gradation
Firsts
Heir
More quotes by William Shakespeare
You must not think That we are made of stuff so fat and dull That we can let our beard be shook with danger And think it pastime.
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Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
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But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly.
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The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
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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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I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.
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For this relief, much thanks
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Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie. Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
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No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape back- wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
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You know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.
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Liberty plucks justice by the nose The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.
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What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
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Thou art the Mars of malcontents.
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Small to greater matters must give way.
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He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
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I will praise any man that will praise me.
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I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours.
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Be collected. No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.
William Shakespeare
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
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Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
William Shakespeare