Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.
More Quotes from William Shakespeare:
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession liesA lass unparalleled.William Shakespeare
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
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Every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment
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That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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I hold you as a thing enskyed and sainted.
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