there was the passion of his longing to escape, there was the vision of the world he had lost.
At times, almost he could have cried aloud to her, 'Better to have let me die in the canebrakes of the marshes than have kept me alive to live thus!'
Childlike, he had thought that, could he but break down-a blossom that hung out of his reach, he would amuse himself with it all the year through, and forget how long time was, and cheat his dreary destiny by oblivion of it. But, like the child, having reached and culled the blossom, he cared little to play with it; almost he looked with regret at what his sport had done; almost he wished it once more out of reach, that he might once more long for it.
In their loves men often are but children; and captious children, too.
Who thwarts them rules them best.
The time went on, like a long golden ribbon slowly unwound.
The world was transfigured to her. Now and then the fables of heaven cannot match the ecstasies of earth; only so soon they perish, so soon they pass.
