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O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.
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Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. [Act 5, Scene 2]
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Ready to go but never to return.
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No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
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Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; for 'tis the mind that makes the body rich
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But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
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Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
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Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
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The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
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What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, From earth to heaven.
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How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
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I hourly learn a doctrine of obedience.
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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Beauty lives with kindness.
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There should be hours for necessities, not for delights; times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.
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Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
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Fortune is merry, And in this mood will give us anything.
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Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's.
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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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He knows what it's like to strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then be heard no more.