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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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
Defiled
Pitch
Touch
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!
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Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.
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When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
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He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
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Love is familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love. -
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But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly.
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My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
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Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil With them forgive yourself.
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These violent delights have violent ends.
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
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Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
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In maiden meditation, fancy free.
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'Tis better to bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
William Shakespeare
Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
William Shakespeare
Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
William Shakespeare
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
William Shakespeare