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The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible.
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
Mockery
Keen
Wit
Edge
Wenches
Edges
Mocking
Invisible
Razor
Tongue
Razors
Women
Tongues
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.
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Be like you thought our love would last too long, if it were chain'd together
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Yes, faith it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say 'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say 'Father, as it please me.
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It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.
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We have seen better days.
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Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.
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It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.
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When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel (Who had no doubt some noble creature in her) Dashed all to pieces! O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perished!
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
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Haply a woman's voice may do some good When articles too nicely urged be stood on.
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GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.
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My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation.
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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