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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, From earth to heaven.
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
Glances
Doth
Rolling
Poet
Fine
Midsummer
Heaven
Airy
Eye
Frenzy
Earth
Glance
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
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Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
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He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
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Speak comfortable words.
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When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
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Bid the dishonest man mend himself if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
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For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.
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The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
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The seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest.
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Nature does require her times of preservation.
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If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not
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But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.
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Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden.
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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
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The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.
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O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
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Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.
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