Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you.

The night is long that never finds the day.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Scorn and derision never come in tears:
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?