“I am made of that self mettle as my sister/ And prize me at
her worth. In my true heart/ I find she names my very deed of love;/ Only she
comes too short, that I profess/ Myself an enemy to all other joys/ Which the
most precious square of sense…/ And find I am alone felicitate/ In your dear
Highness’ love” (1.1.77-84).
I love this quote because the language is so flowery that if
it were a tangible thing, it’d be incredibly, well, gaudy. Regan’s flatteries to me
comes across as ugly despite how prettily she says them which makes me appreciate
how Shakespeare can portray a character’s true heart no matter what they’re
saying.