Rudyard Kipling: The white moth to the closing vine, The bee to the open clover, And the Gypsy blood to the Gypsy blood Ever the wide wor

The white moth to the closing vine, The bee to the open clover, And the Gypsy bl — Rudyard Kipling

The white moth to the closing vine, The bee to the open clover, And the Gypsy blood to the Gypsy blood Ever the wide world over.

Rudyard Kipling

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How come we don't always know when love begins, but we always know when it ends? — Harris K. Telemacher
Love, which is the essence of God, is not for levity, but for the total worth of — Ralph Waldo Emerson
You may find many a brighter one Than your own rose, but there are none So true — Letitia Elizabeth Landon The London Literary Gazette
Love's Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war. — Percy Bysshe Shelley
There shall be no slavery of the mind. — Victor Hugo
Love! Beyond measure — beyond death — it nearly kills. But one wouldn't have bee — John Galsworthy
It seems to me that all of the evil in life comes from idleness, boredom, and ps — Anton Chekhov
This bird sees the white man come and the Indian withdraw, but it withdraws not. — Henry David Thoreau
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, tha — Omar Khayyám
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To say the truth, though I say 't that should not say 't. — Beaumont and Fletcher
The last link is broken That bound me to thee, And the words thou hast spoken Ha — Fanny Steers