Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.
O war! thou son of Hell!
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.