All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.

Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!

So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.

Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine; It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.