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Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.
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
Temptation
Fiend
Elbow
Elbows
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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Your praises will become your wages.
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Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
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For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.
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As chaste as unsunned snow.
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His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.
William Shakespeare
Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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What fates impose, that men must needs abide it boots not to resist both wind and tide.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
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Light and lust are deadly enemies.
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I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
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These blessed candles of the night.
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How hard it is to hide the sparks of Nature!
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It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.
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What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.
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And a man's life's no more than to say One.
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How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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