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Sin will pluck on sin.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.
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And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother
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"Fair, kind, and true" is all my argument, "Fair, kind, and true" varying to other words; And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
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O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!
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There is a history in all men's lives.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
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Love laughs at locksmiths.
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Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct.
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The world must be peopled!
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Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.
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I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.
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This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long.
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So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
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Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? And the creature run from the cur. There thou mightst behold the great image of authority-a dog's obeyed in office.
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Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.
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How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!
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Despair and die. The ghosts
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father refuse thy name, thou art thyself thou not a montegue, what is montegue? tis nor hand nor foot nor any other part belonging to a man What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Romeo would were he not Romeo called retain such dear perfection to which he owes without that title, Romeo, Doth thy name! And for that name which is no part of thee, take all thyself.