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In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
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
Damned
Errors
Fair
Deceit
Grossness
Atheism
Text
Ornament
Religion
Sober
Brow
Hiding
Approve
Error
Ornaments
Bless
Brows
Fairs
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Who is Silvia What is she, That all our swains commend her Holy, fair, and wise is she.
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What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.
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Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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These cardinals trifle with me I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his royal friends.
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The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
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The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
William Shakespeare
Some glory in their birth , some in their skill , Some in their wealth , some in their bodies' force , Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill Some in their hawks and hounds , some in their horse And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure , Wherein it finds a joy above the rest .
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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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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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
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