POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.
Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.
What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.