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Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold.
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
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As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
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Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary
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God grant us patience!
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But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
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O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.
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Sweet are the uses of adversity
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Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor? Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest. Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart. Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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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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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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I came, saw, and overcame.
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When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.
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Take her away; for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.
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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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Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
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Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.