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Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
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
Fool
Strange
Tongues
Called
Beasts
Comes
Pair
Pairs
Fools
Beast
Tongue
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Few love to hear the sins they love to act.
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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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Assume a virtue if you have it not.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, gives in your weakness strength unto your foe.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say - I love you
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The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue!
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All's well that ends well still the fine's the crown. Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
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On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
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O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
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Fair Katherine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
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Your praises will become your wages.
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Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bedtime?
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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What many men desire--that 'many' may be meant By the fool multitude that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty.
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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