You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?
I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
Sycorax has grown into a hoop
There is a world elsewhere.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing.
Hang him, swaggering rascal!