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Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
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
Sorrow
Presses
Wise
Press
Disdain
Words
Pity
Lend
Pain
Patience
Lest
Art
Tongue
Cruel
Much
Express
Tied
Thou
Manner
Anger
Wanting
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Time's the king of men he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
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The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
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When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
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Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
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Suit the action to the word : the word to the action : with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature.
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All difficulties are easy when they are known.
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Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
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There's daggers in men's smiles.
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Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth
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O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.
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And my poor fool is hanged! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never! Pray you, undo this button.
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Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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Lovers can do their amorous rites by their own beauties
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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
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A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?
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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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