For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.
To go through life without love is to travel through the world in a carriage with closed windows.
Love is not like the echo, which returneth only what is given; but, rather, like the pump, which returneth by the pail what it received by the pint.
It may be true that love is blind, but only for what is ugly: its sight is keen enough for what is beautiful.
For misdirected love, the attainment of its object is, indeed, the best cure; but it cures as the guillotine cures headache.
