Yes, I'd rather be shy than smart; a foolish diffidence constrains my heart. I reach for a star; then, from a morbid dread of ridicule, I pluck a flo… - Edmond Rostand

Oh! We have our pockets full,
we poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes — creation of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves, — phantasms of our brains. — Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, — Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! — Take it, and make an end!

Roxane: His face is like yours, burning with spirit and imagination. He is proud and noble and young and fearless and beautiful-
Cyrano:(losing all his colour.) Beautiful!
Roxane: Yes. What's wrong?
Cyrano: With me? Nothing. It's only... only... (Displaying his bandaged hand, with a little smile.) This fatal wound.

A word of all the words I've got in there...
But if I wrote... Let's get it written, then,
This letter I've composed a hundred times,
Written and rewritten in my mind: it's ready
And all I have to do is lay my soul
Open beside the paper and copy it out.