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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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
Slander
Liking
Gossip
Ill
Word
May
Much
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Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion.
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Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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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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O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)
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I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.
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This above all to thine own self be true.
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Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Never shame to hear what you have nobly done
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Though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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O horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee!
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When most I wink, then do my eyes best see
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Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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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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