If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.

The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

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