Dropt tears have hastened your decay, And brought you one step nigher death; And you have heard, unthrilled, unmoved, The music of Love's golden breath, And seen the light in eyes that loved. You think you hold the core and kernel, Of all the world beneath your crust, Old dial? But when you lie in dust, This vine will bloom, strong, green, and proved. Love is eternal.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

We do not lose our friends when they die, we only lose sight of them.