the more is my unrest

That's such a beautiful line. For reference, the complete quotation is as follows:

ROMEO: Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
BENVOLIO: Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
ROMEO: Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
(Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare)

I just hear that line on its own, though. Not quite sure why. One could use it in so many different settings -- perhaps that's why.

Sunday was blissfully quiet. I had an extravagantly long bath this afternoon, using one of Liralen's bath bombs (thank you!) and it was blissful.

Meals are currently involving eating the remains of Christmas food. The last of the goose went as soup at today's lunch, though some of the fat (poured off while roasting) still remains for later use. (Don't assume that I'm an enthusiastic cook, btw -- my parents are, though, or at least my father is, and my mother's good too.) Supper involved the remaining chipolatas (with mushrooms and bacon and egg) and fried Christmas pudding for after. No, seriously. You put it in a pan with some butter and -- look, it's only once a year, all right? And we had to use up the remaining brandy butter after that.

Leaving this tragic affair of gluttony behind us, I look forward to a reasonably peaceful week, as I've booked off the days that aren't already automatic holidays. This probably means that my conscience will force me to do writing/studying/cleaning work in the spare time. Or bits of it, anyhow. Or some bits. Not big bits.

---

. . . Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together.

-- My Last Duchess, Browning