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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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O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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Either to die the death or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.
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Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
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Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
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Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire. Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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Tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.
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There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
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By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
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Ay me! sad hours seem long.
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Set we forward; let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together. So through Lud's town march, And in the temple of the great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts. Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
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And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William Shakespeare
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
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Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
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There's villainous news abroad.
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He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
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O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come; But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.
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Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?