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Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
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
Bold
Fearful
Goodness
Risk
Virtue
Values
Never
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And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.
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Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
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See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
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What our contempts do often hurl from us, We wish it ours again.
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Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
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If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.
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When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
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The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many thing by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
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Old Time the clock-setter.
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What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.
William Shakespeare
If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.
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The why is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob if not, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
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Sycorax has grown into a hoop
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I can express no kinder sign of love, than this kind kiss.
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What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
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We must every one be a man of his own fancy.
William Shakespeare
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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A woman's fitness comes by fits.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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Barnes are blessings.
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