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Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.
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
Spirit
Fare
Wells
Farewell
Well
Goodbye
Kind
Spirits
Make
Sister
Thee
Elements
Comfort
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If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
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I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
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O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.-Helena
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No matter where of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth
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Let me have war, say I it exceeds peace as far as day does night it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose 'Tis breath not lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
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What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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I have supped full with horrors.
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Men must learn now with pity to dispense For policy sits above conscience.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
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Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
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If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
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