Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love

In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts.

I...Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.

And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.

It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.