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In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
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
Love
Pillow
Midnight
Lover
Lovers
Youth
Upon
True
Wast
Ever
Sighed
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
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There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.
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In a false quarrel there is no true valor.
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
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And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
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Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
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He must needs go that the devil drives.
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Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, Manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man
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Alas, our frailty is the cause , not we! For, such as we are made of, such we be.
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For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas
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There's place and means for every man alive.
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My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
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I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats If it be man's work, I'll do't.
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