Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck.
My love is as a fever, longing still.
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My scepter for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave.
You kiss by th' book.
Self-love is the most inhibited sin in the canon.
Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.