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Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.
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
Face
Lying
Rather
Faces
Beard
Men
Endure
Husband
Marriage
Lord
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar but not gone.
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Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.
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But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.
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Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
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I myself am best When least in company.
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That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
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Let's meet as little as we can
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I hold my peace, sir? no No, I will speak as liberal as the north Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
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To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
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April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
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The weary sun hath made a golden set And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
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Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
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For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
William Shakespeare
What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time?
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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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No particular scandal one can touch but it confounds the breather.
William Shakespeare