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If love be blind, it best agrees with night
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
Agrees
Blind
Agree
Night
Best
Love
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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They do not abuse the king that flatter him. For flattery is the bellows blows up sin The thing the which is flattered, but a spark To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing.
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The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
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But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
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No, no 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
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Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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Boldness be my friend.
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To you your father should be as a god.
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Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
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Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there.
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RUMOUR: Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
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O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first it smells of mortality.
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May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
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Give me a bowl of wine. I have not that alacrity of spirit Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.
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Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation
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He is winding the watch of his wit by and by it will strike.
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