Our affections as well as our bodies are in perpetual flux.
Self-love is an instrument useful but dangerous; it often wounds the hand which makes use of it, and seldom does good without doing harm.
Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow's dark array, - Days of absence, I am weary; She I love is far away. Poetic Verse by
To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written.