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I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours.
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
Wells
Well
Lag
Life
Relaxation
Entertain
Content
Quiet
Hours
Ends
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Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.
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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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Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
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For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
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The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.
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Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
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