When the man's soul breathes through his intellect, it is genius; 
when it breathes through his will, it is virtue;
when it flows through his affection, it is love.

I love Love—though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee—
Thou art love and life! O come!
Make once more my heart thy home!                                           - P.B. Shelley