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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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
Pleasant
Vices
Gods
Instruments
Make
Lear
Plague
Memorable
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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Be cheerful wipe thine eyes: Some falls are means the happier to arise
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For this relief, much thanks
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Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
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Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
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Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
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In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.
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On your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep As is the difference betwixt day and night The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor
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It is held that valor is the chiefest virtue, and most dignifies the haver.
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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
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To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.
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