“Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.It is immortal as immaculate Truth,'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,In barren regions, where no waters flow,Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,That but itself and darkness nought doth show,It is my love's being yet it cannot die,Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.”

“But it is not only the difficulty and labor which men take in finding out of truth, nor again that when it is found it imposeth upon men's thoughts, that doth bring lies in favor; but a natural though corrupt love of the lie itself.”

“Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.”

“He never wanted love, though. You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night.”

“Changes are very natural in life, though these changes doesn't bring the brightness to ur loved ones, don't let it to be the cause of darkness.”

“Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.”