Half our life is consumed in longing to be nearer death.
"Alice," said Maltravers, waking at last from his reverie, and drawing that light, childlike form nearer to him, "you enjoy this hour as much as I do." "Oh, much more!" "More! and why so ?" "Because I am thinking of you, and perhaps you are not thinking of yourself." Maltravers smiled and stroked those beautiful ringlets, and kissed that smooth, innocent forehead, and Alice nestled herself in his breast.
"How young you look by this light, Alice!" said he, tenderly looking down.
"Would you love me less if I were old ?" asked Alice.
"I suppose I should never have loved you in the same way if you had been old when I first saw you." "Yet I am sure I should have felt the same for you if you had been--oh! ever so old!" "What, with wrinkled cheeks, and palsied head, and a brown wig, and no teeth, like Mr.Simcox ?" "Oh, but you could never be like that! You would always look young--your heart would be always in your face.

That clear smile--ah, you would look beautiful to the last!" "But Simcox, though not very lovely now, has been, I dare say, handsomer than I am, Alice; and I shall be contented to look as well when I am as old!" "I should never know you were old, because I can see you just as I please.

Sometimes, when you are thoughtful, your brows meet, and you look so stern that I tremble; but then I think of you when you last smiled, and look up again, and though you are frowning still, you seem to smile.

I am sure you are different to other eyes than to mine...

and time must kill _me_ before, in my sight, it could alter _you_." "Sweet Alice, you talk eloquently, for you talk love." "My heart talks to you.