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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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
Either
Destroy
Grief
Joy
Violence
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
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I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
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Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.
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Those, that with haste will make a mighty fire, Begin it with weak straws.
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Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low.
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The Thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman and to be King Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor.
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Remembrance of things past.
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I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends
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Grief best is pleased with grief's society.
William Shakespeare
Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
William Shakespeare
This act is an ancient tale new told And, in the last repeating, troublesome, Being urged at a time unseasonable.
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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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I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
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This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in.
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In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
William Shakespeare
It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.
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Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But, in the less foul profanation.
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