Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.

O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!

My heart is ever at your service.

I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valor.

We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

The very instant I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides To make me slave to it. ...mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.