If that will please her,
And if you can bounce high,
Bounce for her too,
Till she cry,"Lover!
I must have you."
F Scott Fitzgerald
"Ah Love! Could thou and I with fate conspire,
To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits and then,
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's desire?"
"I cannot give what men call love:
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not
The desire of the moth for the star
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?"
"Suffer love; a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.'