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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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
Fixed
Greater
Suffering
Felt
Malady
Lesser
Scarce
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, In forms imaginary, th' unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
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Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.
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His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.
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Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
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Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
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Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
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Thou whoreson, senseless villain!
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I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.
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Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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To be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
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The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
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Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.
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Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
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Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
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Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.
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I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
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Ay beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
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Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
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Each substance of a grief has twenty shadows.
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Now is the winter of our discontent.
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