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Plenty and peace breed cowards hardness ever of hardiness is mother.
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
Coward
Plenty
Peace
Mother
Hardiness
Ever
Hardness
Cowards
Breed
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Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married It is an honor that I dream not of
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What thing, in honor, had my father lost, That need to be revived and breathed in me?
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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Lords, knights and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay for every word I speak, Ye see I drink the water of my eye.
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O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
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The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
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Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.
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Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires[nettles], when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
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I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.
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My desolation does begin to make A better life.
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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
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What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate I am a gentleman.
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The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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