“O Luke, I would not lose thee as I lostDarth Vader. His betrayal made my lifeA bleak and tragic thing. Thy loss untoThe dark would make my death a hellish, coldEternity.”

“And there was never a better time to delve for pleasure in language than the sixteenth century, when novelty blew through English like a spring breeze. Some twelve thousand words, a phenomenal numb...”

“O! Learn to read what silent love hath writ:to hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.”

“What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts...”