Tis love in love that makes the sport.
Expectation makes a blessing dear. Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it was.
I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?
Joy never feasts so high as when the first course is of misery.
'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear.
Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite makes eating a delight.