William Shakespeare Quotes About Children
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
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Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
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...an old man is twice a child.
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The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.
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How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
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I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting
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Barnes are blessings.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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Those that do teach young babes Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.
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Men from children nothing differ.
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Dreams are the children of idled minds.
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Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
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As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
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What thing, in honor, had my father lost, That need to be revived and breathed in me?
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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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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
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It is a wise father that knows his own child.
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Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.
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Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enrolled In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!
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Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
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Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
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