1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least.
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Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back: There is a world elsewhere.
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Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.
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Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, For I never saw true beauty till this night
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Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lackest and that; breath wilt thou lose
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Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth in strange eruptions . . .
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Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.
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Do all men kill the things they do not love?
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Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.
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Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain?
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Do you not know that I am a woman? When I think, I must speak
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Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age?
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Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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