“And had he not long read
Her heart's hush’d secret in the soft dark eye
Lighted at his approach, and on the cheek
Colouring all crimson at his lightest look?”

“Victor's unfortunate choice it was always to mis-see, to mis-hear, to misjudge. He read softness into her because of the softness of her voice, when she was only remembering. His was the self-centered chaos of childhood. All looks and thoughts, loves and hatreds, were directed at him. Softness was softness towards him, weakness was weakness in the face of his strength. He preheard answers and listened not. He was full-coloured and brilliant—all outside of him was pale.”

“She rubbed her eyes, and after a long study of his face, she spoke
"Is it really you?"
Is it from your cheek, she thought, that I took the seed?
The man nodded.
His heart wobbled and he held tighter to the branches.
It is.”

“Oh, love is timid in its birth!
Watching her lightest look or stir,
As he but look'd and breathed with her.
Gay words were passing, but he leant
In silence; yet, one quick glance sent,—
His secret is no more his own,
When has woman her power not known?”

“He looks at me, the light in his eyes fractures into millions of bits—a kaleidoscope of darkness that may never be fixed.”

“The dying crimson of the West
That faintly tinged his haggard cheek,
Fell on her as she stood, and shed
A glory round the patient head.”

“There is light in the heart; there is no darkness in it. If a man's head be struck off, we cannot say who the man is by simply looking at his trunk. It is the heart which sees through the eye. A man must have the internal eye.”

“Flat muscled and honey coloured. Sea secrets in his eyes. A silver raindrop in his ear.”

“His steady gaze held hers. His blue eyes were very dark, uniquely so. She had known people before with blue eyes, but they had always been light blue. Will's were the color of the sky just on the edge of night.”

“He had that faint sick look in his eyes, as if he wanted to give her something, charity for instance.”