Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?
what is joy to me, to him is pain.
Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.
she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity
Death is a great price to pay for a red rose
I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.
It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?
Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?
