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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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Exceeds man's might: that dwells with the gods above.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
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I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
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Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
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Use almost can change the stamp of nature.
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
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Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
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What e'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time.
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The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
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Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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Allow not nature more than nature needs.
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Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
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Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.
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The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!