Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
The evil that men do lives after them; The good is often interred with their bones.
Love is the wisest of madness, able to suppress bitterness, sweetness able to heal.
With your image and your love, though absent, you are present every hour. Because you can't go away over the limit of my thoughts, and I am with them every hour, and they are with you.
Then love-devouring death do what he dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
What angel wakes me from my
flowery bed?
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night.
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Love, love madly, love as much as you can and if they then should tell you it's a sin then love your sin and you shall be innocent.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.