He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope…I have loved none but you.
I’m not sentimental–I’m as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last–the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won’t.
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