Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
Such joy ambition finds.
Where no hope is left, is left no fear.
Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.