Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.

O teach me how I should forget to think (1.1.224)

Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.