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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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I have been long a sleeper; but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
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How hard it is to hide the sparks of Nature!
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
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Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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A very ancient and fish-like smell.
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All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
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Perseverance... keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang quite out of fashion, like a rusty nail in monumental mockery.
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O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past
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The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
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Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
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Pride went before, ambition follows him.
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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
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Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
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What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.
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Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
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Lords, knights and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see I drink the water of my eye.