I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could

I Understand A Fury In Your Words But Not Your Words.

Better Be With The Dead, Whom We To Gain Our Peace, Have Sent To Peace, Than On The Torture Of The Mind To Lie In Restless Ecstasy.

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

As Honour, Love, Obedience, Troops Of Friends, / I Must Not Look To Have; But, In Their Stead, / Curses, Not Loud But Deep, Mouth-honour, Breath, / Which The Poor Heart Would Fain Deny, And Dare Not" (5.3.25-28).