"To look on her, and then die, I would be content!"
"Ah, when you behold her, you will wish to live. She is become quieter than she was of old; but even yet she is so lively, that when you see her your blood sparkles within you."
"Did you tell her why it is not in my power to do her will, and to accomplish my own passionate desire?"
"I related such tales that you would have thought me the Shah of Persia's chief poet. Seltanetta shed tears like a fountain after rain. She does nothing else but weep."
"Why, then, reduce her to despair? 'I cannot now' does not mean 'it is for ever impossible.' You know what a woman's heart is, Saphir Ali: for them the end of hope is the end of love."
"You sow words on the wind, djanníon (my soul.) Hope, for lovers, is a skein of worsted—endless. In cool blood, you do not even trust your eyes; but fall in love, and you will believe in ghosts. I think that Seltanetta would hope that you could ride to her from your coffin—not only from Derbénd."
"And how is Derbénd better than a coffin to me? Does not my heart feel its decay, without power to escape it? Here is only my corpse: my soul is far away."
"It seems that your senses often take the whim of walking I know not where, dear Ammalát. Are you not well at Verkhóffsky's—free and contented? beloved as a younger brother, caressed like a bride? Grant that Seltanetta is lovely: there are not many Verkhóffskys. Cannot you sacrifice to friendship a little part of love?"
"Am not I then doing so, Saphir Ali? But if you knew how much it costs me! It is as if I tore my heart to pieces. Friendship is a lovely thing, but it cannot fill the place of love."
"At least, it can console us for love—it can relieve it. Have you spoken about this to the Colonel?"