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Maxioms by William Shakespeare

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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than read more

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

by William Shakespeare Found in: Devil Quotes,
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together;
our virtues would be proud read more

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together;
our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not, and
our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our
virtues.

by William Shakespeare Found in: General Sayings,
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A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,— Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act read more

A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,— Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. Sc. 2.

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Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud
Without our special wonder?

Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud
Without our special wonder?

by William Shakespeare Found in: Wonders Quotes,
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Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy read more

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatched with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lasslorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air--the queen o' th' sky,
Whose wat-ry arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain.
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

by William Shakespeare Found in: April Quotes,
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