O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.
Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.
We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.
Gently to hear, kindly to judge.
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)