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.

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

All the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.

Upon your shattered ruins where, This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. Love will not crumble.

It always gives me a shiver when I see a cat seeing what I can't see.

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 starshave no number and the sea no rest.

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.