We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.

I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.

The day breaks not, it is my heart.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

In best understandings, sin began, Angels sinned first, then Devils, and then Man.