Of all the ingenuity that plotters talk of, of all the imagination that poets dream, there is nothing to compare with love.

To gain a plodding subsistence a man will do much.

To win the girl he loves, to make her his own, he will do everything: he will strive, and strain, and even starve to win her.

Poverty will have nothing mean if confronted for her, hardship have no suffering if endured for her sake.

With her before him, all the world shows but one goal; without her, life is a mere dreary task, and himself a hired labourer.' 'I confess, after all this, that I don't see how breaking stones would be more palatable to me because some pretty girl that I was fond of saw me hammering away at my limestone!' 'If you could have loved as I would wish you to love, your career had never fallen to this.