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The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.
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
Icicles
Chaste
Purest
Frost
Rome
Snow
Moon
Icicle
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Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
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Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!
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The play's the thing.
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He is white-livered and red-faced.
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Though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft let by the nose with gold.
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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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A young man married is a man that's marred.
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Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I ha' lost my reputation, I ha' lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial!
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Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipped of justice.
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Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.
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Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades Sink in the trial.
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We that are true lovers run into strange capers but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
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What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
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Grief hath two tongues and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit.
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Stars hide your fires let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see
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Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
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