I Can Give The Loser Leave To

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)

Nor Shall This Peace Sleep With Her; But As When The Bird Of Wonder Dies, The Maiden Phoenix, Her Ashes New-create Another Heir As Great In Admiration As Herself.

Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou Dost Not Feel.

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.

Polonius: What Do You Read, My Lord? Hamlet: Words, Words, Words.