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Value dwells not in particular will It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer.
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
Dignity
Value
Particular
Values
Estimate
Wells
Dwells
Well
Wherein
Holds
Precious
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Tears water our growth.
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Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
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Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.
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Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
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How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
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I care not, a man can die but once we owe God and death.
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I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.
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Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?
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Accommodated that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated or when a man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated,?which is an excellent thing.
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For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
William Shakespeare
A kind Of excellent dumb discourse.
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Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
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Misery makes sport to mock itself.
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Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
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The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
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Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend professed, To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.
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