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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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
Rude
Rough
Thing
Love
Pricks
Like
Boisterous
Thorn
Juliet
Tender
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You told a lie, an odious damned lie Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps and not ever sad then for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.
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I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.
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I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.
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So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by.
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
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Few things loves better Than to abhor himself.
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
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Beware Of entrance to a quarrel.
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Heaven give you many, many merry days.
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The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
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Remuneration! O! That's the Latin word for three farthings
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For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious thing we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.
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Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?
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