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A rose is a rose, and by another name would smell as sweet.

 

Hark! But soft, what light through yon window breaks?

Tis this east, and fair Drew is the morning sun!

 

To Drew, or not to Drew?

That is the question.

 

Whether tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

or to put up with his stevestojan-ty performances for one more week?

 

Life is like a box of choc-o-lates.

You nevvr knowd whut cher gunna git.

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