Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.

The world is a great volume, and man the index of that book; even in the body of man, you may turn to the whole world.

There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.

Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

I am a little world made cunningly.