1963 ordspråk av William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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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.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire
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Love is a spirit of all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
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Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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Love is merely madness...
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Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving
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Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
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Love is the sweetest of dreams, and the worst of nightmares.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
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Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
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Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better
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Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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