Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Love goes toward love.
We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.
He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?