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The cunning livery of hell.
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
Cunning
Hell
Livery
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
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Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.
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By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Listen to many, speak to a few.
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
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I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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How every fool can play upon the word!
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The spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes.
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The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
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Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.
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I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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