...the poet, he nothing affirmeth, and therefore never lieth.
What is mine, even to my life, is hers I love; but the secret of my friend is not mine!
Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; neither with pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatsoever else may make the too-much-loved earth more lovely; her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden.
I willingly confess that it likes me better when I find virtue in a fair lodging than when I am bound to seek it in an ill-favored creature.
As the love of the heavens makes us heavenly, the love of virtue virtuous, so doth the love of the world make one become worldly.
**Did you realize how much a kiss says, Philip???** Oh My Angel I doooo....A KISS is the beginning of, middle to, and end of most things I love about life.
My thoughts, imprisoned in my secret woes, with flamy breaths do issue oft in sound.
The heavens do not send good haps in handfuls; but let us pick out our good by little, and with care, from out much bad, that still our little world may know its king.
Vice is but a nurse of agonies.
What doth better become wisdom than to discern what is worthy the living.
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