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I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!
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
Merry
Travel
Fool
Happiness
Rather
Experience
Make
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Give me to drink mandragora.
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They are fairies he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch no man their works must eye.
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
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A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.
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what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes
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What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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Unless the old adage must be verified, That beggars mounted, run their horse to death.
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A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day.
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There is none of my uncle's marks upon you he taught me how to know a man in love in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
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My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
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Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
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She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
William Shakespeare
My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
William Shakespeare
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
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We cannot conceive of matter being formed of nothing, since things require a seed to start from... Therefore there is not anything which returns to nothing, but all things return dissolved into their elements.
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I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
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