Ask not of me, love, what is love? Ask what is good of God above; Ask of the great sun what is light; Ask what is darkness of the night; Ask sin of what may be forgiven; Ask what is happiness of heaven; Ask what is folly of the crowd; Ask what is fashion of the shroud; Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss; Ask of thyself what beauty is.
Could I love less, I should be happier now.
Love spends his all, and still hath store.
Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.
Life is less than nothing without love.
None but the brave and beautiful can love.
The truth of truths is love.
Could we but think with the intensity we love with, we might do great things.
Love is the art of hearts, and heart or arts.
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