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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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
Life
Look
Yellow
Looks
Aging
Enough
Obedience
Must
Lived
Sere
Long
Honor
Accompany
Way
Age
Leafs
Time
Friends
Leaf
Love
Fall
Troops
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Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
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Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.
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That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
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Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
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We cannot all be masters.
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Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
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A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!
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This is the very ecstasy of love.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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O, had I but followed the arts!
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The why is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob if not, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
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We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
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Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.
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If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.
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Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
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Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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