If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I'd be your slave.

I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again - it is hers yet - he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if the air blew on it.

The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

You know, I've had a bitter, hard life since I last heard your voice and if I've survived it's all because of you.

There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou - Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.