Love not what you are, but what you may become.

Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes

Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other.

Absence, that common cure of love.

All kinds of beauty do not inspire love; there is a kind that only pleases the sight but does not captivate the affections.

Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.