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Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
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
Sea
Deceivers
Constant
Blithe
Feet
Inconstancy
Ever
Deceiver
Thing
Sigh
Never
Ladies
Men
Shore
Foot
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Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
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It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.
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The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
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Though Fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
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I must be cruel only to be kind Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
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Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
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You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
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What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
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We must not stint Our necessary actions in the fear To cope malicious censurers, which ever, As rav'nous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further Than vainly longing.
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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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This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
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Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!
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The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
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Some falls the means are happier to rise.
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Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. But, either it was different in blood,- Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,- Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.
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Can I go forward when my heart is here?
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I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.
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It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.
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For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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