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I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
He who seeks ecstasy in love should not complain of suffering.
POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.
It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
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