If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God; and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.
Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
Chastity is not chastity in an old man, but a disability to be unchaste.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.