“Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sat lovers without conflict, without flame”

As shaking terrors from his blazing hair, a sanguine comet gleams through dusky air.

Horror itself in that fair scene looks gay, And joy springs up e’en in the midst of fear.

Love is when you don’t have to be with another person to touch their heart!

Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door.

Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile, They will, they will not; fools that on them trust; For in their speech is death, hell in their smile.

Any time not spent on love is wasted.

For when last need to desperation driveth, Who dareth most he wiseth counsel giveth.

Lost is the time that you don’t spend for love.

Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, his locks were grey, yet was his courage green.

Perhaps if only once you did enjoy The thousandth part of all the happiness A heart beloved enjoys, returning love, Repentant, you would surely sighing say, “All time is truly lost and gone Which is not spent in serving love.”

A friend giveth sympathy in trouble.

A fool is he that comes to preach or prate, When men with swords their right and wrong debate.

It is the fortunate who should extol fortune.

Not for no cold did freeze, Nor any cloud beguile Th’eternal flowering spring

They make their fortune who are stout and wise, Wit rules the heavens, discretion guides the skies.

True love cannot be found where it does not exist, nor can it be denied where it does.

Woman is a delightful instrument of pleasure, but it is necessary to know its trembling strings, to study the position of them, the timid keyboard, the fingering so changeful and capricious which befits it.

The only way that I could figure they could improve upon Coca-Cola, one of life’s most delightful elixirs, which studies prove will heal the sick and occasionally raise the dead, is to put bourbon in it.

I am very busy delighting in the lord. The lord is very busy with the desires of my heart.

To love is to take delight in happiness of another, or, what amounts to the same thing, it is to account another’s happiness as one’s own.

The psychotic drowns in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.

Many homicidal lunatics are very quiet, unassuming people. Delightful fellows.

Never relax, for you will not attain to the possession of true spiritual delights if first you do not learn to deny your every desire.

She is delightfully chaotic; a beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure.