Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
Coquetry is the champagne of love.
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.