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To die: - to sleep: No more and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
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
Speech
Shocks
Thousand
Heir
Sleep
Heirs
Dies
Wished
Natural
Ache
Death
Shock
Ends
Flesh
Devoutly
Heart
Died
Consummation
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.
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So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by.
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I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.
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England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.
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Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
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Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.
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Can one desire too much of a good thing?
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
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Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
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Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring.
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With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.
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For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
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The arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just.
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Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
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Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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Justice always whirls in equal measure.
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We make trifles of terrors, Ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, When we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear.
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Our praises are our wages.
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Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
William Shakespeare
Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
William Shakespeare