Literature
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shameIs lust in action: and till action, lustIs perjured, murderous, bloody, full…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 128
How oft when thou, my music, music play’st,Upon that blessed wood whose motion soundsWith thy sweet fingers when thou gently…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 127
In the old age black was not counted fair,Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;But now is black…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 126
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powerDost hold Time’s fickle glass, his sickle, hour;Who hast by waning grown,…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 125
Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy,With my extern the outward honouring,Or laid great bases for eternity,Which proves more…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 124
If my dear love were but the child of state,It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered,As subject to Time’s love…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 123
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:Thy pyramids built up with newer mightTo me are nothing novel,…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 122
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brainFull charactered with lasting memory,Which shall above that idle rank remain,Beyond all date,…
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William Shakespeare – Sonnet 121
Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,When not to be receives reproach of being;And the just pleasure lost, which…
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Anna Akhmatova I hear the oriole’s ever-mournful voice
I hear the oriole’s ever-mournful voice,And welcome the rich summer’s losses.Through the grain, packed tightly ear on ear,The sickle slices,…
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