Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
William ShakespeareHamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.
William Shakespeare