Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.
A politician... one that would circumvent God.
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
She told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father Entirely to her love, but if she lost it Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt After new fancies.