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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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
Wrought
Dull
Forgotten
Brain
Things
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When he is best, he is a little worse than a man and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.
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So loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven, Visit her face' too roughly.
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Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do till you require.
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Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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By-and-by is easily said.
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They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
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Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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An overflow of good converts to bad.
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To sue to live, I find I seek to die And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
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To you your father should be as a god One that composed your beauties, yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure or disfigure it.
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Let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
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I feel it gone, yet know not when it left.
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If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star!
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