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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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
House
Madmen
Tell
Punish
Reason
Deserves
Wells
Madness
Well
Merely
Lunacy
Love
Deserve
Whip
Ordinary
Whips
Dark
Cured
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For I am nothing if not critical.
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And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
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A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion-- To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
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But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
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The thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility yet am I inland bred And know some nurture.
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A plague on both your houses.
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He is the most wretched of men who has never felt adversity.
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Whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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I am wrapped in dismal thinking.
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I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
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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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Give me to drink mandragora.
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
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Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
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This is the short and the long of it.
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... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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Then to Silvia let us sing that Silvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing upon the dull earth dwelling.
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So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend, or be rid on't.
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