When pain ends, gain ends too.
My sun sets to rise again.
I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
Truth never hurt the teller.
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.
Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!