“Love is the only gold.”

Things seen are mightier than things heard.

O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Love will conquer at the last.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again.

Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.

In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.

As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.

A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering ‘it will be happier’.

I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.

Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.

A louse in the locks of literature.

He makes no friend who never made a foe.

My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That’s heaven. That’s gold, and anything else is just a waste of time.

On soft Spring nights I’ll stand in the yard under the stars – Something good will come out of all things yet – And it will be golden and eternal just like that – There’s no need to say another word.

It was an act of bravery loving you. I’ve been dripping in gold ever since.

We were told that they wished merely to pass through our country. To seek for gold in the far west, Yet before the ashes of the council are cold, the Great Father is building his forts among us. His presence here is an insult to the spirits of our ancestors.

Despite all the silver of Diana and Mercury, their images will be found on the lake. For the sculptor looking for new clay, he and his people will be flooded with gold.

There were hints of sunrise on the rim of the sky, yet it was still dark, and the traces of morning color were like goldfish swimming in ink.

Your magic is too golden, too sky-opening, too hearts-bursting to be buried quietly away.

The white man has got the gold out of the land which belonged to the red man.