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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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
Sweet
Rest
Sleep
Eyes
Thine
Upon
Breast
Eye
Dwell
Peace
Would
Breasts
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Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed.
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No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger.
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Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.
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There is a tide in the affairs of men
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I can counterfeit the deep tragedian Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start, at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.
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the fire seven times tried this seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone you are sped.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
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. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
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I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.
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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.
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Our jovial star reigned at his birth.
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There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)
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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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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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Beware Of entrance to a quarrel.
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The weary sun hath made a golden set And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
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