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So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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
Time
Remote
Accents
Breathe
Short
Winded
Peace
Pant
Care
Commenced
Find
Shaken
Book
Afar
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ingratitude is monstrous.
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The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
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Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
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To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.
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A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
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I feel it gone, yet know not when it left.
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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Suit the action to the word : the word to the action : with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature.
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I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise.
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The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
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Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find awaked in such a kind Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them throughly.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
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Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
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Courage mounteth with occasion.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the King: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
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So all my best is dressing old words new.
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