Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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- Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
- Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it 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.
- Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
- When I died last, and, Dear, I die as often as from thee I go though it be but an hour ago and lovers hours be full eternity.
- Let us love nobly, and live, and add again years and years unto years, till we attain to write threescore: this is the second of our reign.
- Be your own palace, or the world is your jail.