Hate him she did not quite; but he was dust and ashes to her... - Thomas Hardy

A star looks down at me, And says: "Here I and you Stand each in our degree: What do you mean to do,— Mean to do?"

Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it. Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice come within.

It often happens that in situations of unrestraint, where there is no thought of the eye of criticism, real feeling glides into a mode of manifestation not easily distinguishable from rodomontade. A veneer of affectation overlies a bulk of truth, with the evil consequence, if perceived, that the substance is estimated by the superficies, and the whole rejected.