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She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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
Therefore
Woman
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
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Why, all delights are vain but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain.
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If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
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A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
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Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
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Never play with the feelings of others, because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for life time
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A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
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Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
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I crave fit disposition for my wife Due reference of place, and exhibition With such accommodation, and besort, As levels with her breeding.
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Two may keep counsel putting one away!
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There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.
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O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
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I'll make death love me for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe.
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There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.
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I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.
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Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
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The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die
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Our praises are our wages.
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