All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.
What man does not understand, he fears; and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
Time can but make her beauty over again.
There is only one romance the Soul's.
Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.