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Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
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You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match'd; and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man- And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed, I cannot love; I am too young, I pray you pardon me'!
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He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
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Take pains. Be perfect.
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An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not.
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You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
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thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
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Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger.
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I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.
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The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.
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Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.
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When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.
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Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat; Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
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Value dwells not in particular will; It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer.
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When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.