lj_vampirebitch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lj_vampirebitch) wrote2005-09-28 11:36 am
lj_vampirebitch) wrote2005-09-28 11:36 am
shakespeare - i absolutely loooooove shakespeare
If you see this on your f-list, quote some Shakespeare. (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mesnica)
VIOLA
If I did love you in my master’s flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.
OLIVIA
Why, what would you?
VIOLA
Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house.
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out “Olivia!” Oh, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
-Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene v, lines 239-251
mesnica)VIOLA
If I did love you in my master’s flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.
OLIVIA
Why, what would you?
VIOLA
Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house.
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out “Olivia!” Oh, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
-Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene v, lines 239-251
no subject
If I was around to see this meme in time, this is exactly what I'd quote. :)
no subject
no subject
And in honor of your quote, I shall quote as well. Act II, scene IV.
Vio. Ay, but I know,—
Duke. What dost thou know?
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov’d a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
Duke. And what’s her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
no subject
no subject