Were I laid on Greenland's Coast, And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass; Warm amidst eternal Frost, Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.
When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.
Envy is a kind of praise.
A woman's friendship ever ends in love.