Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe, — but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

And trade is art, and art's philosophy,
In Paris.

And I breathe large at home. I drop my cloak,
Unclasp my girdle, loose the band that ties
My hair...now could I but unloose my soul!
We are sepulchred alive in this close world,
And want more room.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! —and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.