Romance is the poetry of literature.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

He loved the twilight that surrounds The border-land of old romance; Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist, The dusk of centuries and of song.

Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.