They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.

Doubt is a thief that often makes us fear to tread where we might have won.

I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.