He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?

And nature must obey necessity.

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.

What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs?