Shakespeare never has six lines together without a fault. Perhaps you may find seven, but this does not refute my general assertion.

I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare, that in his writing, whatsoever he penned, he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, "Would he had blotted a thousand".

Shakespeare’s fault is not the greatest into which a poet may fall. It merely indicates a deficiency of taste.

No literary work longer than a haiku is going to be entirely without faults.

He who improvises can never make a perfect line of poetry.

There is no poetry where there are no mistakes.

One can forgive Shakespeare anything, except one's own bad lines.

'Tis not sufficient to combine
Well-chosen words in a well-ordered line.

A perfect poem is impossible. Once it had been written, the world would end.

Yet must I not give nature all: thy art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion. And that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine arc) and strike the second heat Upon the muses anvil; turn the fame, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn, For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou. Look how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-turned, and true filed lines: In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.

Nor sequent centuries could hit Orbit and sum of Shakespeare's wit.

(Of Shakespeare) A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery (243)

There has never been superadded to these vices of mine the withering, embalming vice of consistency.

I always do the first line well, but I have trouble with the others.