Be to yourself as you would to your friend.

Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

There is a world elsewhere.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

The rain, it raineth every day.

Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.

I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it