I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.
Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
The Eyes are the window to your soul