Blow, wind! Come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
William Shakespeare
Quotes
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As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us.
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Things without all remedy should be without regard: What's done is done.
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Let Hercules himself do what he may, the cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to heaven.
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Though fortunes malice overthrow my state, my mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
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Fortune, that arrant whore, ne'er turns the key to the poor.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!
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[Drink] provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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O God, that man should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!
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To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess
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They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they starve with nothing.