And plenty makes us poor.
But love's a malady without a cure.
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
Shakespeare was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of the books to read nature; he looked inward, and found her there.
Woman's honor is nice as ermine; it will not bear a soil.