Quotes William Shakespeare - page 5

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Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life\'s key: be check\'d for silence, But never tax\'d for speech.
Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
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It is a wise father that knows his own child.
O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.
I dote on his very absence.
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
Parting is such sweet sorrow
What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun.
I have been long a sleeper; but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights, Eightscore-eight hours, and lovers' absent hours More tedious than the dial eightscore times! O weary reckoning!
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.
Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
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Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
The course of true love never did run smooth.