6 excerpts about Love

"Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.

I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh:—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,—as we are!

"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester—"so," he added, enclosing me in his arms—"so, Janet, I love you. You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I entreat to accept me as a husband."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Me? I the wife of Mr. Rochester?"

"Yes, you—you strange, almost unearthly thing! I love as my own flesh. You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I ask you to marry me."

I was silent: I thought he mocked me.

"My bride is here," he said again, drawing me to him, "because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?"

Still I did not answer; and still he looked at me with that earnestness which seemed to search my soul.

"Do you doubt me, Jane?"

"Entirely."

"You have no faith in me?"

"Not yet."

"Am I a liar in your eyes?"

"I think you are playing with me."

"I ask you once more: will you marry me?"

My heart stood still. Every feeling I had was divided between hope and fear. Never had happiness appeared so near, and never had I distrusted it so profoundly.

Excerpts
[…]
The Little Prince went to look at the roses again.
“You’re not at all like my rose. You’re nothing at all yet,” he told them.
“No one has tamed you and you haven’t tamed anyone. You’re the way
my fox was. He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others. But
I’ve made him my friend, and now he’s the only fox in all the world.”
And the roses were humbled.
You’re lovely, but you’re empty,” he went on. One couldn’t die for you.
Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like
you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you
together, since she’s the one I’ve watered. Since she’s the one I put
under glass. Since she’s the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since
she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or
three for butterflies). Since she’s the one I listened to when she
complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said
nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.”
And he went back to the fox.
“Good-bye,” he said.
“Goodbye,” said the fox. Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: One
sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the
eyes.”
“Anything essential is invisible to the eyes,” the little prince repeated,
in order to remember.
“It’s the time you spend on your rose that makes your rose so
important.”
“It’s the time I spent on my rose…,” the little prince repeated, in order
to remember.
“People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said. “But you mustn’t
forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.
You’re responsible for your rose…”
“I’m responsible for my rose…,” the little prince repeated, in order to
remember.
[…]
Now my sorrow is comforted a little. That is to say--not entirely. But I
know that he did go back to
his planet, because I did not find his body at daybreak. It was not such
a heavy body . . . and at
night I love to listen to the stars. It is like five hundred million little
bells . . .
But there is one extraordinary thing . . . when I drew the muzzle for
the little prince, I forgot to add
the leather strap to it. He will never have been able to fasten it on his
sheep. So now I keep
wondering: what is happening on his planet? Perhaps the sheep has
eaten the flower . . .
At one time I say to myself: "Surely not! The little prince shuts his
flower under her glass globe
every night, and he watches over his sheep very carefully . . ." Then I
am happy. And there is
sweetness in the laughter of all the stars.
But at another time I say to myself: "At some moment or other one is
absent-minded, and that is
enough! On some one evening he forgot the glass globe, or the sheep
got out, without making
any noise, in the night . . ." And then the little bells are changed to
tears . . .
Here, then, is a great mystery. For you who also love the little prince,
and for me, nothing in the
universe can be the same if somewhere, we do not know where, a sheep
that we never saw
has--yes or no?--eaten a rose . . .
Look up at the sky. Ask yourselves: is it yes or no? Has the sheep eaten
the flower? And you will
see how everything changes . . .
And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much
importance!

It was on that day when the sun's radiant beams
Were dimmed with sorrow for their Maker,
That I was captured, offering no defense,
For your beloved eyes had already conquered me, my Lady.

It never seemed the time to guard myself
Against Love's sudden blows.
I walked in confidence, unsuspecting, and so my suffering
Began amid the world's public mourning.

Love found me unarmed
And opened the way to my heart through my eyes,
Which have since become the passage and the gateway of my tears.

It seems to me that this brings him little honor:
To wound me with his arrow in such a state,
While never revealing his bow to you, who were already armed.

Love, unconquerable
Waster of rich men, keeper
Of warm lights and all-night vigil
In the soft face of a girl:
Sea-wanderer, forest-visitor!
Even the pure Immortals
cannot escape you,
And mortal man,
in his one day’s dusk,
Trembles before your glory.
Surely you swerve upon ruin
The just man’s consenting heart,
As here you have made bright anger
Strike between father and son––
And none has conquered but Love!
A girl’s glance working
the will of heaven:
Pleasure to her alone who mock us,
Merciless Aphrodite.

“Out of my thoughts! You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!”

Blessed be the day

Blessed be the day, the month, the year,
The season, the hour, and the very moment
When I first beheld
The two beautiful eyes that forever enchanted me.

Blessed be the first sweet suffering
That I felt when Love took hold of me;
Blessed be the bow and the arrows
With which I was pierced,
And the wounds that reached the depths of my heart.

Blessed be every verse I have ever spoken
In praise of my lady's name,
And every sigh, every tear, and every longing.

Blessed be every page
On which I found my glory, and every thought
Devoted to her alone, with no other sharing its place.