FastSaying
Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
William Shakespeare
Mathematicians
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Some cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
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She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared.
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Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.
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O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell!
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O, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day!
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