|Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory -
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am
sad and weary. When I think all hope has gone.
Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont