William Shakespeare

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, read more

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.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Makes a swan-like end, Fading in music. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than read more

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Yet marked O where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before read more

Yet marked O where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.