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Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.
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These blessed candles of the night.
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Make not your thoughts your prisons.
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What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
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[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
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A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
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Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done; Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
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I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
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If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
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He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
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But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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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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For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
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I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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Costly thy habit [dress] as thy purse can buy; But not expressed in fancy - rich, not gaudy. For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
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A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.