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Ay, but hearken, sir though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
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
Nourished
Feed
Meat
Air
Though
Victuals
Would
Hearken
Love
Fain
Chameleon
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Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
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Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
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You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
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The chameleon Love can feed on the air
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Every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a little moment.
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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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The hideous god of war.
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Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.
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As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not (5.3.25-28).
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I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
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If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.
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There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a robe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such pain the cap of him that makes him fine Yet keeps his book uncrossed.
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I hope to see London once ere I die.
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With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
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What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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What, shall one of us, That struck for the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers--shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
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Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
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