The love of heaven makes one heavenly.
They do not love that do not show their love.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
What is past is prologue.