"It's like one of those dreams you have when someone is chasing you. You're running as fast as you can, and someone's trotting behind you, just out of range, trying to grab onto you."

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But now I know that there is no killing A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death. There is no hushing, there is no stilling That which is part of your life and breath. You may bury it deep, and leave behind you The land, the people that knew your slain; It will push the sods from its grave, and find you On wastes of water or desert plain.

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox