And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.
He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)