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Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
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
Pardon
Nurse
Mercy
Second
Stills
Still
Looks
Woe
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
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The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
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This sleep is sound indeed this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings.
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The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.
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Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
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This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
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You know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go.
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Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
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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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Such as we are made of, such we be.
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When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
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The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
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Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
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Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
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