Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear
The present eye praises the present object.
They have a plentiful lack of wit.
Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain.