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The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
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
Rounds
Innocent
Tears
Piteous
Bigs
Chase
Another
Nose
Noses
Innocence
Round
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For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
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Love is merely a madness.
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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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Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
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Wish chastely, and love dearly.
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In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
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Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done joy's soul lies in the doing: That she beloved knows naught, that knows not this-- Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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There is no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown.
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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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Women may fail when there is no strength in man
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The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
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Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it.
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No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.
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Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
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One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
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I am thy father's spirit Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away.
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Costly thy habit [dress] as thy purse can buy But not expressed in fancy - rich, not gaudy. For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
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Go, write it in a martial hand be curst and brief it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss and as many lies as will lie in thy shee.
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
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The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
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