“When the Creator banished from his sightFrail man to dark mortality's abode,And granted him a late return to light,Only by treading reason's arduous road,—When each immortal turned his face away,She, the compassionate, aloneTook up her dwelling in that house of clay,With the deserted, banished one.With drooping wing she hovers hereAround her darling, near the senses' land,And on his prison-walls so drearElysium paints with fond deceptive hand.While soft humanity still lay at rest,Within her tender arms extended,No flame was stirred by bigots' murderous zest,No guiltless blood on high ascended.The heart that she in gentle fetters binds,Views duty's slavish escort scornfully;Her path of light, though fairer far it winds,Sinks in the sun-track of morality.Those who in her chaste service still remain,No grovelling thought can tempt, no fate affright;The spiritual life, so free from stain,Freedom's sweet birthright, they receive again,Under the mystic sway of holy might.”

“There are three lessons I would write-Three words, as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light,Upon the heart of men.Have hope! though clouds environ round,And gladness hides her face in scorn,Put thou the shadow from thy brow,No night but hath its morn.Have love! not love alone for one, But man as man thy brother call,And scatter like the circling sun,Thy charities on all.”

“Curious,' the Prince continued, after a deep silence, 'is it possible never to have known something, never to have missed it in its absence -- and a few moments later to live in and for that single experience alone? Can a single moment make a man so different from himself? It would be just as impossible for me to return to the joys and wishes of yesterday morning as it would for me to return to the games of childhood, now that I have seen that object, now that her image dwells here -- and I have this living, overpowering feeling within me: from now on you can love nothing other than her, and in this world nothing else will ever have any effect on you.”

“She is so bright and glorious that you cannot look at her face or her garments for the splendor with which she shines. For she is terrible with the terror of the avenging lightning, and gentle with the goodness of the bright sun; and both her terror and her gentleness are incomprehensible to humans.... But she is with everyone and in everyone, and so beautiful is her secret that no person can know the sweetness with which she sustains people, and spares them in inscrutable mercy.”

“Over and over I had to reassure her. “You hate me,” she would say. “Lori, I don’t hate you. I love you.” Finally it began to dawn on me. When she challenged me like that, she wasn’t making a statement. She was asking a question. And she needed to hear the answer. She needed to hear that I still accepted her. She needed to hear that I still cared for her. Over and over again she needed to hear me tell her that I loved her.”

“Beware of her fair hair, for she excelsAll women in the magic of her locks; And when she winds them round a young man's neck, She will not ever set him free again.”

“Will!”He turned at the familiar voice and saw Tessa. There was a small path cut along the side of the hill, lined with unfamiliar white flowers, and she was walking up it, toward him. Her long brown hair blew in the wind — she had taken off her straw bonnet, and held it in one hand, waving it at him and smiling as if she were glad to see him. His own heart leaped up at the sight of her. “Tess,” he called. But she was still such a distance away — she seemed both very near and very far suddenly and at the same time. He could see every detail of her pretty, upturned face, but could not touch her, and so he stood, waiting and desiring, and his heart beat like the wings of seagulls in his chest. At last she was there, close enough that he could see where the grass and flowers bent beneath the tread of her shoes. He reached out for her —”