I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.
Who so loves believes the impossible.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only.
I love you for the part of me that you bring out.
Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
Whoever lives true life, will love true love.
I f thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say, I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way Of speaking gently ... for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and, certes, brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee-and love so wrought, May be unwrought so.
What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
It is not merely the likeness which is precious... but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing... the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever! It is the very sanctification of portraits I think - and it is not at all monstrous in me to say that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist's work ever produced.
Definition of Love: A score of zero in tennis. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life.
But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.
When we first met and loved, I did not build Upon the event with marble. . . .
Death forerunneth Love to win "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."
The sweetest lives are those to duty wed, Whose deeds, both great and small Are close-knot strands of an unbroken thread There love ennobles all. The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells The book of life the shining record tells. Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes After its own life-workings. A child's kiss Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad; A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich; A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong; Thou shalt serve thyself by every sense, Of service which thou renderest.
Whoso loves, believes in the impossible
My love for him was so exquisitely pure that if we all were capable of giving and receiving such a beautiful gift the world would be a far more brilliant place; I think we'd all be poets.
World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.
Guess now who holds thee?'--'Death,' I said. But, there, The silver answer rang, . . . 'Not Death, but Love.
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