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Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
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
Done
Things
Wooing
Lies
Joy
Lying
Action
Soul
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.
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Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor wi
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
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Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.
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This above all to thine own self be true.
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Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.
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There is a history in all men's lives.
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Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
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But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
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In the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, From earth to heaven.
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Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant.
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But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise
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