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When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
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
Face
Worship
Love
Heaven
Sun
World
Faces
Cutting
Garish
Death
Pay
Condolences
Night
Fine
Juliet
Littles
Shall
Funeral
Little
Stars
Sympathy
Take
Dies
Grief
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For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.
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Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.
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They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
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I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless as water in a sieve.
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.
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Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
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Hear the meaning within the word.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
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The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.
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Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
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I do love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, then mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb increase, And treasure of my loins.
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Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose to the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, and in the calmest and most stillest night, with all appliances and means to boot, deny it to a king?
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Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
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