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If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
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
Two
Lips
Juliet
Touch
Pilgrim
Holy
Tender
Fine
Smooth
Shrine
Ready
Rough
Pilgrims
Stand
Kiss
Shrines
Hand
Gentle
Blushing
Hands
Kissing
Profane
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It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.
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O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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Mine honor is my life, both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try In that I live, and for that I will die.
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For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all, all honourable men.
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Tis better using France than trusting France Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Which He hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his liveless end.
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Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
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Wait for the season when to cast good counsels upon subsiding passion.
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Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
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Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because t'was night?
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Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.
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I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
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Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
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'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.
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He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep If thou wake, he cannot sleep: Thus of every grief in heart He with thee does bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattering foe.
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The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
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And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
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