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Though men can cover crimes with bold, stern looks, poor women's faces are their own faults' books.
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
Poor
Stern
Faces
Bold
Women
Crimes
Book
Cover
Looks
Faults
Men
Crime
Books
Though
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy: sayest thou that house is dark?
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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
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What's done can't be undone.
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This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
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Too nice, and yet too true!
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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There's villainous news abroad.
William Shakespeare
Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.
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I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My scepter for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave.
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And what’s he then that says I play the villain?
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Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil. Are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?
William Shakespeare
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
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But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.
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A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant.
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Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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I love thee none but thee, and thou deservest it
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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
William Shakespeare