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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in loversand#8217; eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with loversand#8217; tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
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What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
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God bless thee and put meekness in thy mind, love, charity, obedience, and true duty
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I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die no soul will pity me:
And wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?
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3rd Fisherman. I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 1st Fisherman. Why, as men do a-land: the great ones eat up the little ones.
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