My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine. My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live -- to die; I have at last my nameless bliss: As I love -- loved am I!

You have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face.

Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.

Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings.

Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity, or registering wrongs.

There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.

I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest -- blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine.