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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, gives in your weakness strength unto your foe.
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
Fear
Giving
Foe
Unto
Weakness
Strength
Gives
Since
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I'll note you in my book of memory.
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If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
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What the great ones do, the less will prattle of
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The purest treasure mortal times can afford is a spotless reputation.
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I shall despair. There is no creature loves me And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?
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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever
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My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
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The due of honor in no point omit.
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When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
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Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!
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I can counterfeit the deep tragedian Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start, at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.
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. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
William Shakespeare
Love that well which thou must leave ere long.
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Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favor, dream as I have done Wake, and find nothing.
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Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
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Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
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Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
William Shakespeare