No man may be so cursed by priest or pope but what the Eternal Love may still return while any thread of green lives on in hope.

Behold this little Bane- The Boon of all alive- As common as it is unknown The name of it is Love.

Love is done when Loves begun, Sages say, But have Sages known?

Being got it [love] is a treasure sweet, Which to defend, is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.

I am two fools, I know, for loving, and for saying so.

Love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

Love is a growing, or full constant light; And his first minute, after noon, is night.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, age, months, which are the rags of time.

Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?