1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
To me, fair friend, you never can be old. For as you were when first your eye I eyed, such seems your beauty still.
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To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on.
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days.
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To show an unfelt sorrow is an office which the false man does easy
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.
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To their right praise and true perfection!
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To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
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To wail friends lost Is not by much so wholesome - profitable, As to rejoice at friends but newly found
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To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
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To whom God will, there be the victory
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To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine.
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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death
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Tones that sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.
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