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It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.
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
Sound
Idiot
Trekking
Strutting
Death
Tales
Strolling
Signifying
Nothing
Walking
Futility
Fretting
Play
Tomorrow
Creeps
Catharsis
Life
Walks
Fury
Aphorism
Told
Tale
Sonnet
Stage
Pace
Existentialism
Full
Theme
Sauntering
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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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I care not, a man can die but once we owe God and death.
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A rotten case abides no handling.
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When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
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For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights, Eightscore-eight hours, and lovers' absent hours More tedious than the dial eightscore times! O weary reckoning!
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Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come make her laugh at that.
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Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.
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All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.
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So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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I have a bone to pick with Fate
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He receives comfort like cold porridge.
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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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Things past redress are now with me past care
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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