I gave you all!" screeched Lear, waving a palsied claw at Regan.
"And you took your bloody time giving it, too, you senile old fuck," said Regan.

The king stood in a pool of blue light, unmoored.

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*

To call an artist morbid because he deals with morbidity as his subject-matter is as silly as if one called Shakespeare mad because he wrote ‘King Lear.

I've made a dog's breakfast of English history, geography, 'King Lear,' and the English language in general.

I will do such things,--
What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
The terrors of the earth.