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Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.
William Shakespeare
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
William Shakespeare
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Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind.
William Shakespeare
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This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
William Shakespeare
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
William Shakespeare
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Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
William Shakespeare
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There's daggers in men's smiles.
William Shakespeare
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Honesty is not the best policy - merely the safest
William Shakespeare
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Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead!
William Shakespeare
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I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
William Shakespeare
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Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
William Shakespeare
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Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
William Shakespeare
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
William Shakespeare
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
William Shakespeare
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
William Shakespeare
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But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
William Shakespeare
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
William Shakespeare
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The Thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be King Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor.
William Shakespeare
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See the minutes, how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
William Shakespeare
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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
William Shakespeare
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Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
William Shakespeare
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
William Shakespeare
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'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!
William Shakespeare
