1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.
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The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape
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The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: The odds for high and low's alike
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The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts and is desired.
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The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die.
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The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
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The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
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The taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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The things that threatened me, Ne'er looked but on my back; For when they see the face of Caesar They are vanished. -Julius Caesar
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The time is out of joint. O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right!
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The time of life is short; to spend that shortness basely were too long
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The treasury of everlasting joy.
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The truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may be said, as lovers, they do feign.
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The undiscovered country form whose born no traveler returns.
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