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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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
Things
Sassy
Senseless
Blocks
Insult
Block
Stones
Worse
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The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
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Say, thou art mine and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere
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Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married It is an honor that I dream not of
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. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
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It is the witness still of excellency to put a strange face on his own perfection.
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If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
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So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
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A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.
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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
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Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
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Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
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The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.
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And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
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Though inclination be as sharp as will, My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect.
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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