O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault!

As little flowers, which the chill of night has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes, grow straight and open fully on their stems, so did I, too, with my exhausted force.

Love insists the loved loves back

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into cofusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.

From a little spark may burst a flame.

Doubting pleases me no less than knowing