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Few things loves better Than to abhor himself.
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
Abhorrence
Abhor
Loves
Better
Things
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This thought is as a death.
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He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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A light heart lives long.
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You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
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There's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.
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One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.
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Love denied blights the soul we owe to God.
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Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
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Extremity is the trier of spirits.
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Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
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Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
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For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
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The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come make her laugh at that.
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
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Brevity is the soul of wit.
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Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind.
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