Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.

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.

'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

Though truth and falsehood be Near twins, yet truth a little elder is.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.