Every man's life (and ... every woman's life), awaits the hour of blossoming that makes it immortal ... love is a divinity above all accidents, and guards his own with extraordinary obstinacy.

Romance gathers round an old story like lichen on an old branch. And the story of Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard is so old now - some say a year old, some …

No love-story has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning.

Once she kissed me with a jest, Once with a tear - O where's the heart was in my breast, And the ring was in my ear?

Between the finite and the infinite The missing link of Love has left a void. Supply the link, and earth with Heaven will join In one continued chain of endles…

To love life is to love God. Harder and more blessed than all else is to love this life in one's sufferings, in undeserved sufferings.

That God of the clergymen, He is for me as dead as a doornail. But am I an atheist for all that? The clergymen consider me as such - be it so; but I love, and …