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Mine eyes smell onions: I shall weep anon.
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
Smell
Mines
Mine
Food
Anon
Shall
Onions
Eyes
Weep
Eye
Culinary
Cooking
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If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.
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The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honored or begets him hate For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known
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So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.
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When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air the earth sings when he touches it the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
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We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.
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The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
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Falsehood falsehood cures
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Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
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Gently to hear, kindly to judge.
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Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious thing we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.
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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring.
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome therefore I will depart unkissed.
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The color of the king doth come and go, Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
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