They cannot finde that path, which first was showne,
But wander too and fro in waies vnknowne . . .
Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

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Emongst the Roses grow some wicked weeds;
For this was not to love, but lust inclind;
For love does alwayes bring forth bounteous deeds,
And in each gentle hart desire of honour breeds.

***If we say that we have no sin,
We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us.
Why then belike we must sin,
And so consequently die.
Ay, we must die an everlasting death.***
Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus

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***More of your conversation would infect my brain.***
William Shakespeare, Coriolanus