Today’s literary quote of the day is William Shakespeare‘s Sonnet CXLVII:
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair, and though thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
As always, feel free to share your thoughts regarding this particular quote or drop one of your own favorite literary quotes in the comment section of this post.
P.S.
You all should expect to read more quotes from Shakespeare, not just because I got his entire works for Christmas, but more so because he simply is the greatest poet the world ever brought forth.
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