Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. - Percy Bysshe Shelley
When love begins to sicken and decay, it useth an enforced ceremony. - William Shakespeare
If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die. - William Shakespeare
They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm. - Dorothy Parker
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! - William Shakespeare