“The intense happiness of our union is derived in a high degree from the perfect freedom with which we each follow and declare our own impressions.”
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Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
And when a woman's will is as strong as the man's who wants to govern her, half her strength must be concealment.
For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love.
Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.