What Is Love Quotes
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye
She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared
How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.
Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
DEMETRIUS Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. LYSANDER You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.
Beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
This night I hold an old accustomed feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
If ever (as that ever may be near) you meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, then shall you know the wounds invisible that love's keen, arrows make.
Love all. Trust a few. Do wrong to none. This above all: to thine own self be true. No legacy is so rich as honesty. Brevity is the soul of wit
On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
Thou hast her, France; let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity In least speak most, to my capacity.
There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.