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Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
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
Doth
Melancholy
Dull
Comfortless
Despair
Ensue
Sweet
Barred
Worry
Moody
Recreation
Grim
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Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short he tires betimes that spurs too fast.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.
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I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.
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I had as lief have been myself alone.
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It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
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Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.
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I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face.
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
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I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
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The king is but a man, as I am the violet smells to him as it doth to me the element shows to him as it doth to me all his senses have but human conditions his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
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Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
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Thou unfit for any place but hell.
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Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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