Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.
If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now.
Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest,hurts the deepest,but feels the strongest
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.