How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.

Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

What if this present were the world's last night?

I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure; Time shall not lose our passages.

My love though silly is more brave.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.

Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.