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But love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.
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
Like
Cry
Remorseful
Late
Sender
Gone
Sour
Turns
Pardon
Comes
Offense
Great
Crying
Good
Carried
Love
Slowly
More quotes by William Shakespeare
the fire seven times tried this seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone you are sped.
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Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
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I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
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I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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Ambition's debt is paid.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
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Travelers must be content.
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Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
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So many horrid Ghosts.
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I every man to his business.
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
William Shakespeare
I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.
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Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*
William Shakespeare