You are my peace, my solace, my salvation.

New-born desires, after all, have inexplicable charms, and all the pleasure of love is in variety.

Then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place But none, I think, do there embrace.

Without dance, a man can do nothing.

Ah! how annoying that the law doesn't allow a woman to change husbands just as one does shirts.

There is no rampart that will hold out against malice.

One can be well-bred and write bad poetry