Love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases to be a secret.
Jealousy, the old worm that bites.
'Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew, Which still was panting, part of it was true: Oh how I strove the rest to have believed; Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!
A brave world, sir, full of religion, knavery, and change: we shall shortly see better days.
Each moment of a happy lover's hour is worth an age of dull and common life.
One hour of right-down love is worth an age of dully living on.