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We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:

LXXIX

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,
And my sick Muse doth give an other place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek: he can afford
No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. 
  Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
  Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.
 	--William Shakespeare

CXXXIII

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd:
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, 
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:
  And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
  Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
 	--William Shakespeare

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It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness. -Tolstoy, Leo

All The Best,

William Einstein Shakespeare :)

Tis not a lip or eye we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. -Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism, 1711