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God grant us patience!
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
Grant
Grants
Patience
Difficult
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Are you up to your destiny?
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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil. Are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.
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I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
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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.
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That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.
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What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
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Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?
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I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
William Shakespeare
He hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink his intellect is not replenished he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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