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Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness.
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Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
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Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!
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I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article." --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
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Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
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You have witchcraft in your lips
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
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Love's best habit is a soothing tongue
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
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The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
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Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
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Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.
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Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
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I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it.
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.
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I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
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Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind.