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Barnes are blessings.
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Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
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I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.
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Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature.
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When I was at home I was in a better place
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A pal is one that is aware you while you are, understands where you have already been, accepts whatever you are becoming, and continue to, carefully means that you can develop.
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Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
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Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
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Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man; we say the King Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.
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Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.
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This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away; go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
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O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
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The nature of bad news affects the teller.
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Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
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Well, honor is the subject of my story.
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Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
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Highly fed and lowly taught.
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Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
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The why is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.