Our laws on love are cautious and prosaic; our songs of love, wild and tragic.

From Reportage on Lovers by Nick Joaquin (writing as Quijano de Manila).

How fondly we recollect these solitary days of pleasure, and hope for their recurrence, and try to plan the circumstances that made them bright; and arrange, and predestinate, and diplomatise with fate for a renewal of the remembered joy. As if any joy could ever be built up out of such and such constituent parts! As if happiness were not occasionally accidental - a bright and wandering bird, utterly irregular in its migration; with us one summer’s day, and for ever gone from us on the next!

Lady Audley’s Secret | Mary Elizabeth Braddon

The love that is not blind is perhaps only a spurious divinity after all; for when Cupid takes the fillet from his eyes it is a fatally certain indication that he is preparing to spread his wings for a flight.

Lady Audley’s Secret | Mary Elizabeth Braddon