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And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
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
Make
Excusing
Oftentimes
Doth
Fault
Excuse
Faults
Worse
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Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
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One woman is fair, yet I am well another is wise, yet I am well another virtuous, yet I am well but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.
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Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
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As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or Night kept chain'd below.
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I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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Be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.
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That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
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I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book.
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As good luck would have it, comes in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach, and in her invention, and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.
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Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
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For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
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Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us.
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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