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Were it good To set the exact wealth of all our states All at one cast? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good.
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
Nice
Exact
Hours
Cast
War
Casts
States
Main
Good
Hour
Hazard
Wealth
Hazards
Risk
Doubtful
Rich
Gambling
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England fairly met!
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Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.
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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
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They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
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Ready to go but never to return.
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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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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
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A noble shalt thou have, and present pay And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
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O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
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Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
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Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
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