Never play with the feelings of others, because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for life time
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise.
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love. That inward beauty and invisible; Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, yet should I be in love by touching thee. 'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, and that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, and nothing but the very smell were left me, yet would my love to thee be still as much; for from the stillitory of thy face excelling comes breath perfum'd that breedeth love by smelling.
The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad.
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