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When a father gives to his son, both laugh when a son gives to his father, both cry.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Giving
Fatherhood
Dad
Son
Cry
Laugh
Laughing
Gives
Father
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Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
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I will praise any man that will praise me.
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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.
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Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
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To be direct and honest is not safe.
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And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was called compliment.
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Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.
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A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as dot an inland brook Into the main of waters.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
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The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
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What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
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For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part.
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