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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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
Conqueror
Conquest
Fame
Though
Lives
Death
Makes
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This world to me is like a lasting storm,Whirring me from my friends.
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Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
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All that glisters is not gold Often have you heard that told.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
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Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind.
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Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
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What is thy sentence then but speechless death.
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Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
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There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
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Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
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Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
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No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
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To offend and judge are distinct offices, And of opposed natures.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no name to be known by, let us call thee devil....O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!
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When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
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Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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