Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
I feel it gone, yet know not when it left.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
Swift as shadow, short as any dream
Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.
He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)