“The truest love that ever heartFelt at its kindled core,Did through each vein, in quickened start,The tide of being pour.Her coming was my hope each day,Her parting was my pain;The chance that did her steps delayWas ice in every vein.I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,As I loved, loved to be;And to this object did I pressAs blind as eagerly.But wide as pathless was the spaceThat lay our lives between,And dangerous as the foamy raceOf ocean-surges green.And haunted as a robber-pathThrough wilderness or wood;For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,Between our spirits stood.I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;I omens did defy:Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,I passed impetuous by.On sped my rainbow, fast as light;I flew as in a dream;For glorious rose upon my sightThat child of Shower and Gleam.Still bright on clouds of suffering dimShines that soft, solemn joy;Nor care I now, how dense and grimDisasters gather nigh.I care not in this moment sweet,Though all I have rushed o'erShould come on pinion, strong and fleet,Proclaiming vengeance sore:Though haughty Hate should strike me down,Right, bar approach to me,And grinding Might, with furious frown,Swear endless enmity.My love has placed her little handWith noble faith in mine,And vowed that wedlock's sacred bandOur nature shall entwine.My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,With me to live--to die;I have at last my nameless bliss.As I love--loved am I!”

“My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine.My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live -- to die;I have at last my nameless bliss: As I love -- loved am I!”

“Her coming was my hope each day,Her parting was my pain;The chance that did her steps delayWas ice in every vein.”

“Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately. "Little skeptic, you shall be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that you know. What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to prove; I caused a rumor to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result; it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not-I could not-marry Miss Ingram. You-you strange-you almost unearthly thing!-I love as my own flesh. You-poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are-I entreat to accept me as a husband.”

“Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don't know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not because she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think I should hate you?""I do indeed, sir.""Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.”

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

“Je fais mon lit et mon ménage; I seek my dinner in a restaurant; my supper takes care, of itself; I pass days laborious and loveless; nights long and lonely; I am ferocious, and bearded and monkish; and nothing now living in this world loves me, except some old hearts worn like my own, and some few beings, impoverished, suffering, poor in purse and in spirit, whom the kingdoms of this world own not, but to whom a will and testament not to be disputed has bequeathed the kingdom of heaven.”