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Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
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
Laughter
Present
Stills
Still
Come
Unsure
Mirth
Mistress
Hath
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Though she be but little, she is fierce!
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Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
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When most I wink, then do my eyes best see
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This is the short and the long of it.
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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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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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Friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
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we are the lords of all eternity
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There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity profound conceit As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
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This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
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Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
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So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly it strikes where it doth love.
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Love thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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Experience teacheth us That resolution 's a sole help at need: And this, my lord, our honour teacheth us, That we be bold in every enterprise: Then since there is no way, but fight or die, Be resolute, my lord, for victory.
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We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
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O shame, where is thy blush?
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so full of shapes is fancy
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