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The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.
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
Ends
Would
Dry
Sweat
Works
Industry
Dies
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.
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Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
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Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
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In maiden meditation, fancy free.
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Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
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Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I every man to his business.
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Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
William Shakespeare
By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.
William Shakespeare
There is a history in all men's lives.
William Shakespeare
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
William Shakespeare
The heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
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I have trod a measure, I have flattered a lady, I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy.
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Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.
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Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.
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Coward dogs most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten runs far before them.
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Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.
William Shakespeare
If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
William Shakespeare