Being got it [love] is a treasure sweet, Which to defend, is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.

I am two fools, I know, for loving, and for saying so.

Love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

Love is a growing, or full constant light; And his first minute, after noon, is night.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, age, months, which are the rags of time.

Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?

Love transforms: it simultaneously makes us larger and limits our possibilities. It changes our history even as it breaks a new path through the present.

In order to love simply, it is necessary to know how to show love.

Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage.