For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; Or, as the heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive; So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!
To her, my lord, Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia: But, like a sickness, did I loathe this food; But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it.
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I make New Year’s resolutions every year and then loathe myself for breaking them.