Shakespeare:
I know not. As youth passes we see things as they are, and our high dreams of what might be become impossible.
Violet:
Never impossible, or we could not dream them.
Shakespeare:
I hoped so once; but now I doubt. How golden-fair you are!
Violet:
You are always kind; but it’s not kindness I want. I’d rather you were unkind and jealous. But you are never jealous, never unkind.
Shakespeare:
You’d rather I were jealous—unkind?