Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk!
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).