William Shakespeare Quotes About Madness
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Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. *Here’s what love is: a smoke made out of lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your lover’s eyes. If you frustrate love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears. What else is love? It’s a wise form of madness. It’s a sweet lozenge that you choke on.*
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Love is . . . a madness most discreet
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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.
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My wits begin to turn.
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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
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I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
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Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
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But there is no such man; for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words.
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For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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Love is merely a madness.
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