O, you have torn my life all to pieces... made me be what I prayed you in pity not to make me be again! - Thomas Hardy

And it was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity.

The village was shutting its eyes. Candles and lamps were being put out everywhere: she could inwardly behold the extinguisher and the extended hand.

It is commonly said that no man was ever converted by argument, but there is a single one which will make any Laodicean in England, let him be once love-sick, wear prayer-books and become a zealous Episcopalian – the argument that his sweetheart can be seen from his pew.