Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Tone of Taciturnity

Until then - I ain't even speakin your name
Just keep my name outta yo' mouth and we can keep it the same

It ain't that I'm too big to listen to the rumors
It's just that I'm too damn big to pay attention to 'em
That's the difference

Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet  oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

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