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Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!
William Shakespeare
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As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
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Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.
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Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
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Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!
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Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
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Quote by William Shakespeare | QuoteProject