Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
If our virtues did not go forth of us, it were all alike as if we had them not.
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
Love is merely a madness.