And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.

But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

I have done one braver thing Than all the Worthies did; And yet a braver thence doth spring, Which is to keep that hid.

Woman would be more charming if one could fall into her arms without falling into her hands.

'No man -prince, peasant, pope, -has all the light, who says else is a mountebank. I claim no private lien on truth, only a liberty to seek it, prove it in deb…

You waste the attention of your eyes, the glittering labour of your hands, and knead the dough enough for dozens of loaves of which you'll taste not a morsel; …