A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Love's Heralds Should Be Thoughts, Which Ten Times Faster Glide Than The Sun's Beams Driving Back Shadows Over Low'ring Hills. Therefore Do Nimble-pinioned Doves Draw Love, And Therefore Hath The Wind-swift Cupid Wings.

Every Thing That Grows / Holds In Perfection But A Little Moment.

I Am Never Merry When I Hear Sweet Music.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes.