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How long a time lies in one little word?
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
Lies
Word
Lying
Littles
Little
Long
Time
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So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time
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It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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I crave fit disposition for my wife Due reference of place, and exhibition With such accommodation, and besort, As levels with her breeding.
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The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body.
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I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.
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It is the disease of not listening...... that I am troubled with.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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No, by my soul, I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
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My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
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Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
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I do desire we may be better strangers.
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Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
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