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The weary sun hath made a golden set And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
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
Golden
Token
Car
Tokens
Sun
Fiery
Gives
Morrow
Giving
Twilight
Made
Weary
Hath
Tract
Bright
Goodly
More quotes by William Shakespeare
You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes still am I King of those.
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Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
William Shakespeare
I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
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Why, thou deboshed fish thou...Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?
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Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
William Shakespeare
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised.
William Shakespeare
Mend when thou canst be better at thy leisure.
William Shakespeare
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
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Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor for 'tis the mind that makes the body rich
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And a man's life's no more than to say One.
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I wish you all the joy that you can wish.
William Shakespeare
Foul whisperings are abroad
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Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.
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Who has a book of all that monarchs do, He's more secure to keep it shut than shown For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind, Blows dust in others' eye, to spread itself And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear To stop the air would hurt them.
William Shakespeare
Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
William Shakespeare
For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
William Shakespeare
Drink down all unkindness.
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Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
William Shakespeare