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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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
Life
Despair
Fate
Ensue
Youth
Perils
Progress
Viewing
Dies
Happiest
Past
Peril
Book
Shut
Would
Crosses
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Ask me no reason why I love you for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.
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O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable
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O, had I but followed the arts!
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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea singing aloud Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
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Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
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I have drunk and seen the spider.
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Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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Thou whoreson, senseless villain!
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What is done cannot be now amended.
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Strong reasons make strong actions let us go If you say ay, the king will not say no.
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
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Having nothing, nothing can he lose.
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Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!
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How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
William Shakespeare
But like of each thing that in season grows.
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So, you are very welcome to our house. It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.
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