In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.

Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.