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Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?
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
Wilt
Whip
Whips
Thine
Faults
Thou
Men
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
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And do so, love, yet when they have devised What strainèd touches rhetoric can lend, Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathized In true plain words by thy true-telling friend And their gross painting might be better used Where cheeks need blood in thee it is abused.
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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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Should the poor be flattered? No let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.
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Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid Fly away, fly away, breath I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
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Don't judge a man's conscience by looking at his face cause he may have a bad heart.
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Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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Let the end try the man.
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He's a soldier and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
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False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
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She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor.
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Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
William Shakespeare
If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.
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