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Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
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
Chief
Chiefs
Mortals
Security
Enemy
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The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger.
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When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun.
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Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
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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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Hate pollutes the mind.
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I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats If it be man's work, I'll do't.
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.
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O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
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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: so are those crisped snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
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Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
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And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
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I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
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Love reasons without reason.
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