Where the mind is past hope, the heart is past shame.
If all the earth were paper white / And all the sea were ink / 'Twere not enough for me to write / As my poor heart doth think.
Do you think that any one can move the heart but He that made it?
The tongue, the ambassador of the heart.
Whatsoever is in the heart of the sober man, is in the mouth of the drunkard.
A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes and hearts ears, bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, kill'd by dissembling, buried by ingratitude, and this is love.
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