Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting. - William Shakespeare

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.