“Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

“If music be the food of love, play on;Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,The appetite may sicken, and so die.That strain again! it had a dying fall:O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,That breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,That, notwithstanding thy capacityReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,Of what validity and pitch soe'er,But falls into abatement and low price,Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancyThat it alone is high fantastical.”

“...the surfeit of loss in my life has convinced me it will be easier to be grieved for than to grieve."Bethia as an old woman about to die p 257”

“The reason that you are blessed in excess with anything is so that you can give it away to someone else in need.”

“They feed you.""I eat people. They don't give me people to eat. They give me animals. That's barbaric. At least people have a fighting chance to get away. The animals they give me are already dead. It's sickening, that's what it is.""Annis, you're a unique individual.”

“But to die as lovers may - to die together, so that they may live together.”