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A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
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
Littles
Little
Self
Peevish
Brat
Willed
Stubborn
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It is the disease of not listening...... that I am troubled with.
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Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
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I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table. Macbeth
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To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
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It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.
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O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
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I am ill at these numbers.
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Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.
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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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Lawyers Are: Perilous mouths.
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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
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In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
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