“The grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.”

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”

“for my grief's so greatThat no supporter but the huge firm earthCan hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.(Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)”

“My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.”

“I will desist;...But there is something glows upon my cheek,And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he speak.”

“But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.”

“Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.”