"Beast?" Jane murmured. "Then God make me a beast; for, man or beast, I am yours." - Edgar Rice Burroughs

My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes.

But metaphor, however poetic, never slaked a dry throat.

That night the clouds broke, and the moon shone down upon our little ledge; and there, hand in hand, we turned our faces toward heaven and plighted our troth beneath the eyes of God. No human agency could have married us more sacredly than we are wed. We are man and wife, and we are content.