The theatre is my drug. And my illness is so far advanced that my physic must be of the highest quality.
Now piercèd is her virgin zone; She feels the foe within it. She hears a broken amorous groan, The panting lover's fainting moan, Just in the happy minute.
Man differs more from man than man from beast
I wish to be moved. I cannot feel in life. I must have others do it for me in theater.
Nothing suits worse with vice than want of sense
Books bear him up a while, and make him try to swim with bladders of philosophy.