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The eye sees all, but the mind shows us what we want to see.
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Myself--a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the king in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me-- Have stooped my neck under your injuries And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment, Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions and my living blood, To show the world I am a gentleman.
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I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
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They love least that let men know their loves.
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A man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine.... If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.
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I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
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Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
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Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear
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Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
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I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
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...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
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What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since everyone hath every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you. On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new. Speak of the spring and foison of the year; The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessèd shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
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Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
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This is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security.
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Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.
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Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
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Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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If yon bethink yourself of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight.
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No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.