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But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.
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
Fool
Thought
Time
Life
Slave
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life both grow in one Take honor from me, and my life is done.
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Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.
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One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
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I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.
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Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty. April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
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O heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
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Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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Plenty and peace breed cowards hardness ever of hardiness is mother.
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Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
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This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
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Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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I had rather eleven died nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
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O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
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Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
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