Either take away, O Eros, a wish for love, or let me be loved! Take away all desire, or satisfy it

Nycilla dyes her locks, 'tis said, but 'tis foul aspersion; She buys them black, they therefore need no subsequent immersion

They call thee rich; I deem thee poor; since, if thou darest not use thy store, but savest only for thine heirs, the treasure is not thine, but theirs

Love is blind, but desire just doesn't give a good goddamn

Her life with others no longer interests him. He wants only her stalking beauty, her theatre of expressions. He wants the minute secret reflection between them, the depth of field minimal, their foreignness intimate like two pages of a closed book.

Love and desire are the spirit's wings to great deeds.