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God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.
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
Feet
Shall
Powerful
Hope
Lantern
Lanterns
Guide
Guides
Stay
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She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them
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Thus we play the fool with the time and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.
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When a gentlemen is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths.
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A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
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And she's fair I love.
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O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
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What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
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We cannot fight for love, as men may do we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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One man in his time plays many parts.
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Good with out evil is like light with out darkness which in turn is like righteousness whith out hope.
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What the great ones do, the less will prattle of
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one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
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You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
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Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark.
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For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
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Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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