Words To Deeds Cold Breath Gives.

Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit.

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

It Is The Very Error Of The Moon; She Comes More Nearer Earth Than She Was Wont, And Makes Men Mad.

I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book Even Of My Secret Soul.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get. I To The World Am Like A Drop Of Water That In The Ocean Seeks Another Drop, Who, Falling There To Find His Fellow Forth, Unseen, Inquisitive, Confounds Himself: So I, To Find A Mother And A Brother, In Quest Of Them, Unhappy, Lose Myself.