There Is No Sure Foundation Set On

Love's Not Love When It Is Mingled With Regards That Stand Aloof From Th' Entire Point.

That Is My Home Of Love: If I Have Ranged, Like Him That Travels I Return Again, Just To The Time, Not With The Time Exchanged.

Tis Ever Common That Men Are Merriest When They Are From Home.

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?