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The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
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
Deep
Sleep
Talk
Upon
Night
Lateness
Nature
Crept
Must
Obey
Necessity
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Truth will come to sight murder cannot be hid long.
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But there is no such man for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words.
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Flout 'em, and scout 'em and scout 'em, and flout 'em / Thought is free.
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The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
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If fortune torments me, hope contents me.
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Charity itself fulfills the law. And who can sever love from charity?
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Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
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Many a true word hath been spoken in jest.
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While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
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Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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Faith, stay here this night they will surely do us no harm you saw they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
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For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
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How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
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So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
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Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.
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And send him many years of sunshine days!
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Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
William Shakespeare