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When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
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
Needs
Smell
Rose
Growth
Tree
Cannot
Give
Plucked
Must
Wither
Giving
Vital
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The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
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All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep, And I could laugh I am light and heavy: Welcome.
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As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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To persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief.
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And either victory, or else a grave.
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile Filths savour but themselves.
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O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.
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Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
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The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband.
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Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O that estates, degrees, and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
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Ay, but to die and go we know not where To lie in cold obstrution and to rot This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.
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Since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it and therefore never floutat me for what I have said against it for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
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