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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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
Frenzy
Nurse
Melancholy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves And spend our flatteries to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again With poisonous spite and envy.
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thy wit is a very bitter sweeting it is a most sharp sauce.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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Beauty lives with kindness.
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Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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You are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear Than to work any.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle for many miles about There's scarce a bush.
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Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
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The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
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What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak, For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
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A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
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Few love to hear the sins they love to act.
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Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
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This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
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