We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.

It is the mind that makes the body rich; and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.

Lend less than you owe.