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A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day.
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
Play
Philosophical
Done
Strive
Great
Rain
Every
Please
World
Wind
Acting
Actors
Begun
Book
Hey
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Wisdom and fortune combating together, If that the former dare but what it can, No chance may shake it.
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What a piece of work is a man
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He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.
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O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
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What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
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I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.
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Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed.
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You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.
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He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.
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A table-full of welcome!
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Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.
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There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
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ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave for there must I use thee.
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Oh what fools we mortals are.
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True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
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The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
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Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.
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The breach of custom Is breach of all.
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