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There live not three good men unhanged in England and one of them is fat and grows old.
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
Fats
England
Grows
War
Three
Live
Good
Men
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The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
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The time of universal peace is near. Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nooked world Shall bear the olive freely.
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It is thyself, mine own self's better part Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
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O shame, where is thy blush?
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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.
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He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.
William Shakespeare
I'll forbear And am fallen out with my more headier will To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.
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Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful
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O war! thou son of Hell!
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.
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Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.
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The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a fool.
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To sleep perchance to dream
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