I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!
What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*
I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.