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Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
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
Fancies
Wavering
Giddy
Sooner
Longing
Fancy
Lost
Women
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
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But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
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I’ll look to like, if looking liking move But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
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Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty!
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I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
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O, the blood more stirs To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
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I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live But in a dream of friendship, To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnished friends?
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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Do all men kill the things they do not love?
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Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!
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Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
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This world to me is like a lasting storm,Whirring me from my friends.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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In the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
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