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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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
Still
Lethe
Steep
Fancy
Thus
Sleep
Sense
Dream
Stills
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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The devil shall have his bargain for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs--he will give the devil his due.
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I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
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Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
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Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?
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Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
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Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
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No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
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O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
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Well, honor is the subject of my story.
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Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
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Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
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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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Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
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