William Shakespeare | newyears
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What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
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All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
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