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Tis better using France than trusting France Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Which He hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.
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
Using
Seas
Sea
Trusting
Lies
Fence
Lying
Hath
Helping
Defend
Given
France
Back
Helps
Better
Safety
Impregnable
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It is the very error of the moon She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
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To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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But love is blind and lovers cannot see
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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Pray, do not mock me. I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
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In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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Foul whisperings are abroad
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I am sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.
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The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
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What's the news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest, Then is doomsday near.
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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
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My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.
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Speak comfortable words.
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Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
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