Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

Take it in what sense thou wilt.

The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.