1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face
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My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain
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My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.
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My crown is in my heart, not in my head, Nor decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen; my crown is called contentment; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy
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My desolation does begin to make A better life.
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My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules
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My friends were poor but honest.
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My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul
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My heart is ever at your service. . . .
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My heart is true as steel.
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My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.
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My library was dukedom large enough.
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My little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.
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My love's more richer than my tongue.
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My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.
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