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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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
Juliet
Doth
Burn
Bright
Teach
Love
Tybalt
Infatuation
Torches
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
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Now no way can I stray Save back to England, all the world's my way.
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Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased, The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.
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Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.
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She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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They do not love that do not show their love.
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He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.
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We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
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I have nothing Of woman in me now from head to foot I am marble-constant.
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And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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Society is no comfort, to one not sociable.
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My love admits no qualifying dross
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