Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

“Acest volum de-amor, amant răzleț,De s-ar lega, ar fi fără de preț”

“When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing…”

“And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,In corporal sufferance finds a pang as …”

“Our bodies are our gardens to which our wills are gardeners.”