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The best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed by those that feel their sharpness.
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
Cursed
Quarrels
Heat
Best
Feel
Feels
Sharpness
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All furnished, all in arms All plum'd like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed Glittering in golden coats like images As full of spirit as the month of May And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
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Preferred three hours quicker over one moment late.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
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We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
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A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
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This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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...and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.
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Cease to lament for that thou canst not help and study help for that which thou lamentest.
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The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
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Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
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For conspiracy, I know not how it tastes, though it be dished For me to try how.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.
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Can one desire too much of a good thing?
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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