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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
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
Amity
Folly
Stupidity
Easily
Wisdom
May
Knits
Untie
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This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
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When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.
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Now the time is come, That France must veil her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap.
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But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
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Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.
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Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
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To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
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Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.
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Myself will straight aboard, and to the state This heavy act with heavy heart relate.
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Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.
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Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
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There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
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Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves.
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And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
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