My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

Self-love, My Liege, Is Not So Vile A Sin, As Self-neglecting.

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!

Wait For The Season When To Cast Good Counsels Upon Subsiding Passion.

For My Part, If A Lie May Do Thee Grace, I'll Gild It With The Happiest Terms I Have.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .