Love is a spirit all compact of fire

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 perserving sweet.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact

What you love about her is her competitiveness, her fire and her spirit. More importantly is her unselfishness. She wants to be part of the team and do her thing.

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

The fire i' th' flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes.