The events of childhood do not pass but repeat themselves like seasons of the year.

In love there are no penalties and no payments, and what is given is indistinguishable from what is received.

And he loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he had believed that in their kiss love had reached its uttermost. But love has no uttermost, as the stars have no number and the sea no rest.

No love-story has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning.

Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.

It seems to me there are no rules, only instances; but perhaps that is because I learned no rules, and am only an instance myself.

Old sundial, you stand here for Time: For Love, the vine that round your base, Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb, And lay one flower-capped spray in grace, Without the asking on your cold, Unsmiling and unfrowning face.