How long will you torment my soul, And break me in pieces with words?

by illimitableoceanofinexplicability

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Yes, I received your postcard yesterday

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I have neither the scholar’s melancholy,
which is emulation; nor the musician’s,
which is fantastical; nor the courtier’s,
which is proud; nor the soldier’s,
which is ambitious; nor the lawyer’s,
which is politic; nor the lady’s,
which is nice; nor the lover’s,
which is all these, but it is a melancholy
of mine own, compounded of many simples,
extracted from many objects, and indeed
the sundry contemplation of my travels,
in which my often rumination wraps me
in a most humorous sadness.

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-As you like it, Act 4 scene 1

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In a frenzy I was from the beginning when first I followed the trail of words you seemed to drop so carelessly, but which I knew were meant for me. Each word I gathered and saved, took apart, discarded, put back together, pasted onto others and then started again until it all made sense, perfect sense, and all the while you just looked back with a smile, maybe a nod of encouragement, it was hard to tell busy as I was imagining things.

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