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I shall despair. There is no creature loves me And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?
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
Find
Pity
Loves
Despair
Creatures
Shall
Since
Wherefore
Dies
Memorable
Soul
Creature
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Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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Ready to go but never to return.
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I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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I must be cruel only to be kind Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
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And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.
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There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done? Aaron: That which thou canst not undo. Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother. Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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