Can one desire too much of a good thing?
Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.
Ideas are the very coinage of your brain.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.