"love is a sickness full of woes, all remedies refusing; a plant that most with cutting grows, most barren with best using. why so? more we enjoy it, more it dies; if not enjoyed, it sighing cries. love is a torment of the mind, a tempest everlasting; and jove hath made it of a kind, not well, nor full, nor fasting. why so? more we enjoy it, more it dies; if not enjoyed, it sighing cries."
-Love is a Sickness, by Samuel Daniel
