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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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
Merely
Deserve
Dark
House
Whip
Tell
Whips
Wells
Madmen
Well
Deserves
Love
Madness
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Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to th's first.
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I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
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All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--boils and plagues Plaster you o'er that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile!
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Yet do I fear thy nature It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
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I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish th' estate o' th' world were now undone.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink his intellect is not replenished he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief
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But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
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There is no creature loves me And if I die, no soul will pity me.
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We were not born to sue, but to command.
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Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.
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The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.
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I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.
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Gold--what can it not do, and undo?
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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Thou art most rich, being poor Most choice, forsaken and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
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He must needs go that the devil drives.
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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
William Shakespeare