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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
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
Art
Stronger
States
Husband
Whose
Vine
Married
Vines
Marriage
Maxims
Strength
Thou
State
Communicate
Makes
Weakness
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Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.
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The icy precepts of respect.
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That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.
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For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
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The worm is not to be trusted.
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Best men oft are moulded out of faults.
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Preposterous ass, that never read so far to know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man, after his studies or his usual pain?
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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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O Ceremony, show me but thy worth? What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men?
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Glendower: I can call the spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man But will they come, when you do call for them?
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Mend when thou canst be better at thy leisure.
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The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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Put money in thy purse.
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Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.
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Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
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Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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His worst fault is, he's given to prayer he is something peevish that way.
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