Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant; one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.

Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.

Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.

Come, come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools: they have need of 'em: wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation, and let father Time shake his glass.

Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.

If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.