Let Fate do her worst; there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
And which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear;
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, like the vase in which roses have once been distilled,
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of roses will hang round it still.

-Thos. Moore

"Anything that is beautiful, people want to break. And you, my dear, are beautiful, I'm afraid." 

 "After all this time?"
 "Always."



 "Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there."