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More from William Shakespeare

Frailty, thy name is woman!

Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace!

Act III, sc. 2.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Act 1, Scene 1

A man I am cross’d with adversity.

Beatrice: I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight.