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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
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
Wrong
Doe
Flatteries
Flattery
Double
Wounds
Tongue
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I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
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The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure.
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For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
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It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
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Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious thing we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.
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Much rain wears the marble.
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Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.
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The sense of death is most in apprehension.
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To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.
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Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights Four nights will quickly dream away the time And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty Calls virtue hypocrite takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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