So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
The Eyes are the window to your soul
No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.