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You have witchcraft in your lips
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
Witchcraft
Lips
Love
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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The love of wicked men converts to fear That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
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Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
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The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err.
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
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Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.
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As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
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And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
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Reflection is the business of man a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
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For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
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I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.
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I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.
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we are the lords of all eternity
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The rain, it raineth every day.
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There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
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Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
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