Ask Me No Reason Why I Love

O, Let Me Kiss That Hand! King Lear: Let Me Wipe It First; It Smells Of Mortality.

Look, How This Ring Encompasseth Thy Finger, Even So Thy Breast Encloseth My Poor Heart; Wear Both Of Them, For Both Of Them Are Thine.

Love's Stories Written In Love's Richest Books. To Fan The Moonbeams From His Sleeping Eyes.

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.