I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.
Christopher MarloweRead
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Interpretation
The quote invites someone to share a life filled with love and joy amidst the beauty of nature.
In this quote by Christopher Marlowe, the speaker is expressing a passionate invitation to a beloved to come and experience a life of love and pleasure. The imagery of nature, including valleys, groves, hills, and fields, highlights the beauty and serenity that accompany a romantic relationship, suggesting that the joys of love are intertwined with the delights found in the natural world.
In practice
This quote can be used in a wedding speech to celebrate the beauty of love.
I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.
What are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
Our swords shall play the orators for us.
I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.
Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.
There was a house at the foot of the tower, close to the thunder of the waves breaking against the cliffs, where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck.
There is an organic affinity between joyousness and tenderness.
But the act, called the sexual act, is not for the depositing of seed. It is for leaping off into the unknown, as from a cliff's edge, like Sappho into the sea.
When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most
Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses β The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end β of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.
Alas! for that accursed time They bore thee o'er the billow, From love to titled age and crime, And an unholy pillow! From me, and from our misty clime, Where weeps the silver willow!
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