If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.

That strain again! it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy

That it alone is high fantastical.

For the benefit of the doubt, this is an extract from the very first scene of Twelfth Night, a speech started off by Duke Orsino.

(: If you can decipher what is he saying, then good for you.

I don't like to indulge in music and pretend it to be love.
I don't need excess of it. :D

BAH, I think I got to start preparing now.
meeting gabriel~

update soon.