As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, wh >>
We are all conceived in close prison; in our mothers wombs, we are clo >>
Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls. For, thus friends absent >>
Never say goodbye, say farewell. >>
I always made an awkward bow. >>
Partir, c'est mourir un peu. (To leave is to die a little.) >>
When I died last, and, Dear, I die as often as from thee I go though it be but an hour ago and lovers hours be full eternity.