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Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.
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
Circle
Circles
Till
Disperse
Fame
Naught
Glory
Enlarge
Water
Spreading
Never
Broads
Like
Broad
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A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.
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O, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villainy, not born where't grows, But worn a bait for ladies.
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Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle for many miles about There's scarce a bush.
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Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate.
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.
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Now the time is come, That France must veil her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap.
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A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.
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I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny. It hath been Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings.
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Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring.
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The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
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She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
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I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.
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