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For what I will, I will, and there an end.
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
Decision
Ends
Resolution
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
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What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
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My love's more richer than my tongue.
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There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would.
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Tis gold Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up This deer to th' stand o' th' stealer: and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief, Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man.
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And nature must obey necessity.
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
William Shakespeare
Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
William Shakespeare
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
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Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
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Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
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Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him some that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice.
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For conspiracy, I know not how it tastes, though it be dished For me to try how.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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For trust not him that hath once broken faith
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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