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Whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
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
Praises
Deed
Deeds
Praise
Pride
Whatever
Devours
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
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Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
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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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There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
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This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.
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A very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience.
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Justice always whirls in equal measure.
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.
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Hang those that talk of fear.
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Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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No particular scandal one can touch but it confounds the breather.
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, From earth to heaven.
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The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
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