I deeply swore
No lip should sigh where mine before
Had sealed its vow, no heart should rest
Upon the bosom mine had prest.
Life had no ill I would not brave
To claim him, even in the grave!

Would you damn your precious soul?

Cursed luck! — said he, biting his lip as he shut the door, — for man to be master of one of the finest chains of reasoning in nature, — and have a wife at the same time with such a head-piece, that he cannot hang up a single inference within side of it, to save his soul from destruction.

I am afraid to own a Body — I am afraid to own a Soul —

He was afraid of defiling the love which filled his soul.

But never give your love, my friend, Unto a foolish heart

O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.