Love is the fart Of every heart It pains the man when 'tis kept close, And others doth offend, when 'tis let loose.
Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite makes eating a delight.
She is pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on.
Success is a rare paint, hides all the ugliness.
Our sins, like to our shadows, when our day was in its glory, scarce appeared; toward our evening, how great and monstrous!
Expectation makes a blessing dear. Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it was.
Opportunity, to statesmen, is as the just degree of heat to chemists; it perfects all the work.
Beauties that from worth arise are like the grace of deities.
But oh, she dances in such a way! No sun upon an Easter-day Is half so fine a sight.
'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear.
I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?
Joy never feasts so high as when the first course is of misery.
A quiet mediocrity is still to be preferred before a troubled superfluity.
Why so pale and wan, fond lover, Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
If I a fancy take To black and blue, That fancy doth it beauty make.
Abruptness is an eloquence in parting, when spinning out the time is but the weaving of new sorrow.
A health to the nut-brown lass, With the hazel eyes: let it pass. . . . . As much to the lively grey 'Tis as good i' th' night as day: . . . . She's a savour to the glass, And excuse to make it pass.
But as when an authentic watch is shown, Each man winds up and rectifies his own, So in our very judgments.
Tis love in love that makes the sport.
Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather.
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