Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
Men have marble, women waxen, minds.
Much rain wears the marble.