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No matter where of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth
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
Men
Talk
Bosoms
Eye
Worms
Speak
Graves
Write
Dust
Earth
Sorrow
Epitaphs
Matter
Comfort
Epitaph
Writing
Paper
Bosom
Make
Eyes
Rainy
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The cheek Is apter than the tongue to tell an errand.
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I dare do all that may become a man Who dares do more, is none
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Words are easy, like the wind Faithful friends are hard to find.
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Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
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The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.
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The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.
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I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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Holy, fair, and wise is she The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
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Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
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I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
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Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom it fills one full of obstacles.
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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.
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