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O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
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
Hell
Eye
Another
Love
Choose
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To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
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Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
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A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
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Celebrity is never more admired than by the negligent.
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They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
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I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
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Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
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In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
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I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless as water in a sieve.
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Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
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Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.
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Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
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Take pains. Be perfect.
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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
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I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
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