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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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
Great
Leaves
Winter
Hand
Fall
Hands
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Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant.
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
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Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
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Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
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Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!
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Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do till you require.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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There is none but he Whose being I do fear and under him My genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Antony's was by Caesar.
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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The rest, is silence.
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There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.
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An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
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Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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Love is blind, it stops lovers seeing the silly things they do.
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I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.
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Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
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Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
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