Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.

The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

It was my duty to have loved the highest; It surely was my profit had I known: It would have been my pleasure had I seen. We needs must love the highest when we see it, Not Lancelot, nor another.

A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.

Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.