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The sands are number'd that make up my life Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
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
Ends
Must
Make
Life
Sands
Sand
Number
Stay
Numbers
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Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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To be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
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That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
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Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.
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What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
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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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My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
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Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.
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For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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Nor age so eat up my invention.
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The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.
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What Time hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit.
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But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.
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