William Shakespeare

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

William Shakespeare

Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

William Shakespeare

Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!

William Shakespeare

Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.

William Shakespeare

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

William Shakespeare

Love is a wonderful, terrible thing.

William Shakespeare

Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.

William Shakespeare

Love is too young to know what conscience is.

William Shakespeare

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

William Shakespeare

Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck.

William Shakespeare