Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
* * * * *
So long as I can breathe or I can see
so long lives your love which gives life to me
* * * * *
A heart to love, and in that heart, Courage, to make’s love known
For where thou art, there is the world itself, And where thou art not, desolation
* * * * *
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet
* * * * *
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof
* * * * *
The course of true love never did run smooth
* * * * *
Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service
* * * * *
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
* * * * *
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
* * * * *
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
* * * * *
Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs
I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty
* * * * *
Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
* * * * *
Falstaff: And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
Prince: As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle.
* * * * *
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath.
* * * * *
To be wise, and love,
Exceeds man's might.
* * * * *
Beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
* * * * *
You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
* * * * *
She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known
What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.
* * * * *
When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.
* * * * *
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
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