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Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
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
Breaths
Beauty
Upon
Death
Suck
Power
Juliet
Hath
Honey
Breath
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'Tis thought the king is dead we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.
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I see men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
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There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
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I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.
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Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
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Great floods have flown From simple sources.
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When the sea was calm all ships alike showed mastership in floating.
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Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
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A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
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O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
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If your mind dislike anything obey it
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We cannot all be masters.
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ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
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They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.
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What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
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Hang him, swaggering rascal!
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