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abstractplane's Journal

18 January 1982
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"His madness keeps him sane, doesn't it?"

Orsino: And what's her history?

Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but indeed
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows but little in our love.

Orsino: But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

Viola: I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.

Twelfth Night, or What You Will - Act II, Scene iv

Marriage is love.


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