He lives most life whoever breathes most air.

I, who had had my heart full for hours, took advantage of an early moment of solitude, to cry in it very bitterly. Suddenly a little hairy head thrust itself from behind my pillow into my face, rubbing its ears and nose against me in a responsive agitation, and drying the tears as they came.

May the good God pardon all good men.

You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.

Or from Browning some "Pomegranate," which if cut deep down the middle Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.