Read, whilst you arm you; arm you, whilst you read.

O subtle love! a thousand wiles thou hast, by humble suit, by service, or by hire, to win a maiden’s hold, – a thing soon done, for nature framed all women to be won.

Virtue’s guard is labor; ease, her sleep.

Love is when you don’t have to be with another person to touch their heart!

Lost is the time that you don’t spend for love.

Perhaps if only once you did enjoy The thousandth part of all the happiness A heart beloved enjoys, returning love, Repentant, you would surely sighing say, “All time is truly lost and gone Which is not spent in serving love.”

Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door.

O subtle love! a thousand wiles thou hast, by humble suit, by service, or by hire, to win a maiden's hold,--a thing soon done, for nature framed all women to be won.

Lost is the time that you don't spend for love.

Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sat lovers without conflict, without flame