The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, and love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.

Faith goes out through the window when beauty comes in at the door.

If I am asked 'what is good?' my answer is that good is good, and that is the end of the matter.

But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.

Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

Can't I another's face commend, Or to her virtues be a friend, But instantly your forehead louers, As if her merit lessen'd yours?