For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.

Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.

a girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate. but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate.

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.