Let my memories of you be like water on the moon. A beautiful impossibility – but allowing me to sleep and dream of infinite beginnings rather than Othello endings.

The tragic hero usurps the function of the gods and attempts to remake the world.

willow trees, willow trees they remind me of DesdemonaI’m so damned literary

Her stare fixed me. Without rancour and without regret; without triumph and without evil; as Desdemona once looked back on Venice. On the incomprehension, the baffled rage of Venice. I had taken myself to be...

I understand a fury in your wordsBut not your words.

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently abeast!

Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

When devils will the blackest sins put onThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows