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For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.
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
Hard
Yards
Engineers
Sport
Blow
Mines
Hoist
Moon
Delve
Shall
Engineer
Sports
Yard
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Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
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The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
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Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But, in the less foul profanation.
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Say as you think and speak it from your souls.
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Hear the meaning within the word.
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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Foul whisperings are abroad
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ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art.
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You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
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The past is prologue.
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
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Men must learn now with pity to dispense For policy sits above conscience.
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