Where love is there is no labor; and if there be labor, that labor is loved.
What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering?
Loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.
I love you. Most ardently.
I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!
Her eye fell everywhere on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination.