1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!
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Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating.
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Cudgel thy brains no more about it.
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Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad
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Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
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Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty.
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Day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger
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Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow's dark array, Days of absence, I am weary; She I love is far away.
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Death is a fearful thing
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Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
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Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee
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Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
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