Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. *Hereโs what love is: a smoke made out of lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your loverโs eyes. If you frustrate love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears. What else is love? Itโs a wise form of madness. Itโs a sweet lozenge that you choke on.*
William ShakespeareIn peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; . . . . Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
William Shakespeare