Lovers should guard their strangeness. If they forgive too much, all slides into confusion and meanness.
Ralph Waldo EmersonThe Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson