Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.
William ShakespeareThough those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe
William ShakespeareMine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her.
William ShakespeareThus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
William Shakespeare