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I am thy father's spirit Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away.
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
Certain
Days
Doom
Done
Fire
Foul
Term
Crimes
Father
Till
Away
Fast
Spirit
Crime
Night
Walk
Burnt
Nature
Walks
Fires
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
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What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
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Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.
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Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Time's the king of men he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
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But I will be, A bridegroom in my death, and run into't As to a lover's bed.
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The coward dies a thousand deaths, the valiant, only once!
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.
William Shakespeare
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
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Good wombs have borne bad sons. -- (Miranda, I:2)
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Swift as shadow, short as any dream
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Exceeds man's might: that dwells with the gods above.
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Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
William Shakespeare
And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
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O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
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Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.
William Shakespeare
The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
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