The delicious breath of rain was in the air.

The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like a white flame which penetrated and found response in depths of his own sensuous nature that had never yet been reached.

There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the imprint of an oar upon the water.

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.

She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.

The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.

Who can tell what metals the gods use in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we might as well call love.