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My crown is in my heart, not on my head not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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
Heart
Indian
Content
Decked
Stones
Diamonds
Kings
Crown
Head
Crowns
Seen
Diamond
Called
Contentment
Enjoy
Seldom
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The patient must minister to himself
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We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.
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So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown When judges have been babes great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
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Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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Poor and content, is rich and rich enough But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
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Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
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What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say
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a wild dedication of yourselves To undiscovered waters, undreamed shores.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.
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Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!
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Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
William Shakespeare
O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75
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He says, he loves my daughter I think so too for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, Who loves another best.
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