for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
Within the book and volume of thy brain.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.