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My way of life Is fall'n into the sear and yellow leaf.
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
Life
Sear
Sears
Leafs
Leaf
Decay
Yellow
Fall
Way
More quotes by William Shakespeare
A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in.
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I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.
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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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And send him many years of sunshine days!
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It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
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Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
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The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
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From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.
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Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. [Act 5, Scene 2]
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I have pursued her, as love hath pursued me
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Nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.
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Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us.
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He does it with better grace, but I do it more natural.
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Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
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These violent delights have violent ends.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
William Shakespeare