Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love. O loving hate. O any thing, of nothing first create. O heavy lightness, serious vanity. Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms. Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health. Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
– William Shakespeare