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Take no repulse, whatever she doth say For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces
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
Though
Flatter
Whatever
Doth
Faces
Flattery
Black
Angels
Away
Angel
Repulse
Take
Praise
Extol
Mean
Grace
Commend
Gone
Graces
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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting The perfume and suppliance of a minute No more.
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Love is begun by time and time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
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Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.
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From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.
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Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil. Are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.
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If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water drops, Stain my man's cheeks.
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A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers.
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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He kills her in her own humor.
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They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them
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Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.
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Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
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The love of wicked men converts to fear That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear
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