Of love..

The stage is more beholding to love, that the life of man. For as to the stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now and then of tragedies; but in life it doth much mischief; sometimes like a siren, sometimes like a fury.

You may observe that amongst all the great and worthy persons (whereof the memory remained, either ancient or recent) there is not one, which has been transported to the mad degree of love: which shows that great spirits, and great business, do keep out this weak passion.

It is a strange thing, to note the overload of this passion, and how it braves the nature, and value of things, by this; that the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole, is comely in nothing but in love. Neither is it merely in the phrase; for whereas it has been well said, that the arch-flatterer, with whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a man's self; certainly the lover is more.

For there was never proud man thought so absurdly well of himself, as the lover doth of the person loved; and therefore it was well said, that it is impossible to love, and to be wise. Neither doth this weakness appear to others only, and not to the party loved; but to the loved most of all, except the love be reciprocal.

For it is a true rule, that love is ever rewarded, either with the reciprocal, or with an inward and secret contempt. By how much the more, men ought to beware of this passion, which lost not only other things, but itself!

I know not how, but martial men are given to love: I think, it is but as they are given to wine; for perils commonly ask to be paid in pleasures. There is in man's nature, a secret inclination and motion, towards love of others, which if it be not spent upon some one or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards many, and make men become humane and charitable; as it is seen sometime in friars. Matrimonial love makes mankind; friendly love perfected it; but wanton love corrupted, and embossed it.