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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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
Days
Grows
Forbid
Heaven
Comforts
Even
Heavens
Life
Loves
Increase
Comfort
Grow
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The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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I'll note you in my book of memory.
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There live not three good men unhanged in England and one of them is fat and grows old.
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The breach of custom Is breach of all.
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Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, at turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to centre.
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Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
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Slanders, sir, for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging think amber and plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
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There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous men.
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O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
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The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die
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Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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Full fathom five thy father lies
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If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre.
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If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
William Shakespeare
Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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