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And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?
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
Heaven
Audit
Stands
Save
Judgment
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
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The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
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Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.
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Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.
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Too much to know is to know nought but fame And every godfather can give a name.
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Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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Good counselors lack no clients.
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Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
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Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
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Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.
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My wits begin to turn.
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They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.
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