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Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
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
Loving
Mere
Friendship
Life
Feigning
Hollies
Holly
Jolly
Folly
More quotes by William Shakespeare
This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
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But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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I have been long a sleeper but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
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Pardon's the word to all.
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Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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His worst fault is, he's given to prayer he is something peevish that way.
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My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
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. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
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Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
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Say, what abridgement have you for this evening? What masque, what music? How shall we beguile The lazy time if not with some delight?
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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion!
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Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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