The Value Of A Sentiment Is The

Love Has No Age, No Limit; And No Death.

Not The Least Hard Thing To Bear When They Go From Us, These Quiet Friends, Is That They Carry Away With Them So Many Years Of Our Own Lives.

It Was Such A Spring Day As Breathes Into A Man An Ineffable Yearning, A Painful Sweetness, A Longing That Makes Him Stand Motionless, Looking At The Leaves Or Grass, And Fling Out His Arms To Embrace He Knows Not What.

Memory Heaps Dead Leaves On Corpse-like Deeds, From Under Which They Do But Vaguely Offend The Sense.

Love Could Never Come To Full Fruition Till It Was Destroyed.