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When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?
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
Sea
Welkin
Wind
Swollen
Face
Weep
Suffering
Doth
Heaven
Winds
Faces
Threatening
Bigs
Mad
Earth
Rage
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The course of true love never did run smooth.
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That is the way to lay the city flat, To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin.
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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A good man's fortune may grow out at heels.
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No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)
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Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
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Why, thou owest god a death.
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Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights Four nights will quickly dream away the time And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
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This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
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I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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I love thee none but thee, and thou deservest it
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They are but beggars that can count their worth.
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The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
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As chaste as unsunned snow.
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Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.
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For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
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But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
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