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Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
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
World
Knives
Radish
Cheese
Paring
Naked
Forked
Head
Radishes
Upon
Fantastically
Made
Carved
Men
Supper
Like
Knife
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In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.
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This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.
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I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
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Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
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Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
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Making night hideous.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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How every fool can play upon the word!
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
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We must follow, not force Providence.
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O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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