Love doesn't demand perfection, but it does ask you to give yourself with less reserve than you'd prefer.

Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

Soul is to be found in the vicinity of taboo.

I thought that the light-house looked lovely as hope, That star on life's tremulous ocean.

Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.

From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.

The devil...the prowde spirite...cannot endure to be mocked.