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But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.
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
Causes
Upon
Begot
Born
Answered
Soul
Monster
Ever
Jealous
Monsters
Souls
Cause
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There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward! Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! Thou Fortune's champion, that dost never fight But where her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
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Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
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He is the most wretched of men who has never felt adversity.
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I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
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Cold indeed, and labor lost: Then farewell heat, and welcome frost!
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You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
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Silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
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No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.
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If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star!
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Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a blessed time for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys renown, and grace is dead The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
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He says, he loves my daughter I think so too for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, Who loves another best.
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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome therefore I will depart unkissed.
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