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The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.
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
Cupid
Keen
Arrows
Wounds
Invisible
Make
Love
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
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Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
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Courage mounteth with occasion.
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Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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If little faults proceeding on distemper Shall not be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chewed, swallowed, and digested, Appear before us?
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If your mind dislike anything obey it
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As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
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Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
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Strong reasons make strong actions.
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A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain,... makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes.
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
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Let him smell his way to Dover!
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Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
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Advance our standards, set upon our foes Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
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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 take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
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