This thought is as a death.

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)

For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.

Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.

Exit, pursued by a bear.

I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.

Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.