Love Not What You Are But Only

Nay, What Is Worse, Perhaps Turn Poet, Which, They Say, Is An Infectious And Incurable Distemper.

Our Hours In Love Have Wings; In Absence, Crutches.

Digo, Paciencia Y Barajar. What I Say Is, Patience, And Shuffle The Cards.

She Wanted, With Her Fickleness, To Make My Destruction Constant; I Want, By Trying To Destroy Myself, To Satisfy Her Desire.

Jests That Give Pains Are No Jests.