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The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
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
Ostentation
Unloved
Often
Left
Love
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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She is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
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...too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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I was a coward on instinct.
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Marriage is a matter of more worth Than to be dealt in by attorneyship.
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Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.
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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
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My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
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I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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It is silliness to live when to live is torment.
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There is no creature loves me And if I die, no soul will pity me.
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the King: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
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