1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.
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Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee
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Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
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Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue.
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Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
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Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to naught
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Go girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
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Go out in the world and work like money doesn't matter, Sing as if no one is listening, Love as if you have never been hurt, and Dance as if no one is watching
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Go to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
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Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy shee
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God be prais'd, that to believing souls, Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair
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