But love does not traffic in a market place, nor use a huckster's scales.

Its joy, like the joy of the intellect, is to feel itself alive.

The aim of love is to love; no more, and no less.

You were my enemy; such an enemy as no man ever had.

I had given you my life; and to gratify the lowest and most contemptible of all human passions, hatred and vanity and greed, you had thrown it away.