Love thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
When devils do the worst sins, they first put on the pretense of goodness and innocence, as I am doing now.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.
Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, and, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy.
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?