By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!
Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.