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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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She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
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O heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
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Lend less than you owe.
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I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.
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And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
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Come, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
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But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
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At once, good night- Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.
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What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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For I am nothing if not critical.
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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
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The worm is not to be trusted.
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You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.
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It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him it sets him on and it takes him off.
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Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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