If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth
On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.
All that glitters is not gold.
I am a feather for each wind that blows