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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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
Feeling
Pleasure
Esteemed
Lost
Deemed
Feelings
Vile
Others
Receives
Better
Reproach
Anger
Seeing
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Give thy thoughts no tongue.
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What is done cannot be now amended.
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He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.
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I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live But in a dream of friendship, To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnished friends?
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
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When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!
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Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
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And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.
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O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
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Would I were dead, if God's good will were so, For what is in this world but grief and woe?
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
William Shakespeare
Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.
William Shakespeare
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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