CLAUDIUS      Not that I think you did not love your father

But that I know love is begun by time

And that I see in passages of proof

Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.

There lives within the very flame of love

A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it,

And nothing is at a like goodness still,

For goodness growing to a pleurisy

Dies in his own too much.     (4.7.108-116)

Not that I think you did not love your father, says Claudius, smooth, smooth, of course you did—do—but that I know love is begun by time and that I see in passages of proof time qualifies the spark and fire of it. It’s just that, over time—experience has shown me—that it can, well, fade. Diminish. There lives within the very flame of love a kind of wick or snuff that will abate it—it can burn itself out, can’t it?—because things change, it’s just not possible to keep going at the same intensity; even good things, positive feelings, can become excessive. And nothing is at a like goodness still, for goodness growing to a pleurisy dies in his own too much. (A nasty image of filial love as a disease, gasping, choking.) But you’re not like that are you, son? Your love for your father still burns bright?

Cynical, obscure, an easy cut. But (like so many of Claudius’s speeches) dense, rich, fascinating.