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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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
Must
Charter
Fools
Blow
Large
Fool
Please
Wind
Liberty
Withal
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
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Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
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O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
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Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
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Let the galled jade wince our withers are unwrung.
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Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
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The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst, 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
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it is not enough to speak, but to speak truee
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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I am not in the giving vein today.
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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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The weakest goes to the wall.
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I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
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They do not abuse the king that flatter him. For flattery is the bellows blows up sin The thing the which is flattered, but a spark To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.
William Shakespeare