I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben,
Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when
The world was worthy of such men.

Meanwhile, we have at last sent our letter (Mazzini’s) to George Sand, accompanied with a little note signed by both of us, though written by me, as seemed right, being the woman. We half despaired in doing this, for it is most difficult, it appears, to get at her, she having taken vows against seeing strangers in consequence of various annoyances and persecutions in and out of print, which it’s the mere instinct of a woman to avoid. I can understand it perfectly. Also, she is in Paris for only a few days, and under a new name, to escape from the plague of her notoriety.

The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne, — And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.