Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,'Tis woman's whole existence.

There are two Souls, whose equal flow In gentle stream so calmly run, That when they part—they part?—ah no! They cannot part—those Souls are One.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.

The light of love, the purity of grace,The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover -- but will sooner or later find a tyrant.

There is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do becomeOld in their youth, and die ere middle age,Without the violence of warlike death;Some perishing of pleasure, some of study, Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,Some of disease, and some insanity,And some of wither’d or of broken hearts;For this last is a malady which slaysMore than are number’d in the lists of Fate,Taking all shapes and bearing many names.