Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.
Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)