No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.

Bad is the world, and all will come to naught
when such ill-dealing must be seen in thought.

I love violent Shakespeare. It is to me what steak is to some people: the bloodier the better.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.