If They Be Two, They Are Two

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.

Chastity Is Not Chastity In An Old Man, But A Disability To Be Unchaste.

There Is Hook In Every Benefit, That Sticks In His Jaws That Takes That Benefit, And Draws Him Whither The Benefactor Will.

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As Debt; I Think It Mercy, If Thou Wilt Forget.