Para un verdadero poeta, cada momento de la vida, cada hecho, debería ser poético, ya que profundamente lo es.

Benedick: I protest I love thee. Beatrice: Why, then, God forgive me! Benedick: What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beatrice: You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you. Benedick: And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice: I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

Hatred is an emotion merely expressed by the poor hearted.

But he would see clearer, breathe freer in her presence: she was at once the dead weight at his breast and the spar which should float them to safety.

Written By Edith Wharton

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