Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.
Love is . . . a madness most discreet
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
I'll note you in my book of memory.
Have I thought long to see this morningโs face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.