I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.

This thought is as a death.

When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.