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Thou art most rich, being poor Most choice, forsaken and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.
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
Choices
Forsaken
Poor
Seize
Upon
Virtues
Art
Thou
Thee
Choice
Virtue
Rich
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For so work the honey bees, creatures that by a rule in nature teach the act of order to a peopled kingdom.
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There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.
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Patch up thine old body for heaven.
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You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
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There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
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Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
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Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
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The due of honor in no point omit.
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To whom God will, there be the victory.
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When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.
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Out of her favour, where I am in love.
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Death is a fearful thing.
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And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.
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Every cloud engenders not a storm.
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If it be honor in your wars to seem The same you are not,--which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy--how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war: since that to both It stands in like request?
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Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
William Shakespeare