Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.

Death forerunneth Love to win "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."

Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my father’s name; Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! My books!

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.

If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.

But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.

And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.