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We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Allow not nature more than nature needs.
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Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he tires betimes that spurs too fast.
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In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.
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Reflection is the business of man; a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
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The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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Out of her favour, where I am in love.
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The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
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Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.
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In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.
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We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
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Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.
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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
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O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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ROSENCRANTZ My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king. HAMLET The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing - GUILDENSTERN A thing my lord? HAMLET Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after!
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.